Under the Rowan Tree
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: Neither England nor Romano is looking for a new partner. Chance encounters, however, lead them into a tentative buddy relationship. As they grow closer, will they learn that love means more than just gift-giving and sex? Engmano. Rated T for language and innuendo.
1. Chapter 1

The afternoon sun slanted through the long windows of England's parlor as he made sure the telephone was on the side table by the sofa. He'd cut fresh rowan branches from the tree in his tiny back yard and placed them in a big vase in his cold fireplace; the sun illuminated the springtime flowers and made them glow. England smiled softly at the sight; then the kettle's whistle went off, and he sauntered back into the kitchen.

Hm. Earl Grey today, he considered, and put a few spoonsful in the pot before adding the water and slipping the Flying Mint Bunny tea cozy over it. The last of this week's scones went onto a plate, everything then onto the tray, and he carried it back into the parlor, placing it gently on the table next to the phone. He had the routine all worked out.

England relaxed into the overstuffed cream sofa, getting comfortable with pillows, and poured a cup of tea. The steam rose into the air, making a small haze. This was his favorite time of day, the quiet time, when the time zones were in alignment and the long distance rates down.

He picked up the phone gently, dialing the well-known number, watching leaf shadows play on the striped wallpaper opposite him. Waiting patiently for his lover to answer, he wished (as always) that he could climb through the wires and rest in his arms. "I miss you terribly, love," he murmured, once the initial greetings were done. "Looking forward to the meeting. Want to see you, hold you, in person." And he did. It never felt right when they were apart. He sipped tea and smiled.

"Dude," America agreed, tapping his telephone randomly. (He did this all the time. England always listened to see if it was a romantic message in Morse code, but it never was). "This nation bullshit's driving me nuts. I need some good loving."

The island nation smiled further at this bald pronouncement and wiggled his feet in their old white socks, setting the now-empty teacup on the tray.

"Thanks for the flowers," America added. "I put 'em in the kitchen."

"I always enjoy sending you gifts, love."

"I know, man, I know. My stack of 'miss you' cards is getting out of control! Hey, can you fly over early?"

"No, I've got too much going on. I'll be there the night before. But with a whole week together, we can do some nice things." Some quiet dinners, maybe a cozy late night walk in the moonli—

"Totally! There's this great new place I have to show you. It's a brewpub."

So much for romance. "Well, all right, we can do that one night."

"It's awesome. It has a _dartboard._ Completely English, yeah?"

England laughed a little. "Yeah. Whatever you want, love, you know that."

"I always think of you when I think of brewpubs, Iggy."

"Blast it, America, will you stop calling me 'Iggy'! It's a ridiculous name." He stopped wiggling his feet and scowled at the phone.

"But it suits you so well! Like Iggy Pop. Punk rock, right? Yeah?"

Gah, that cheerful voice was annoying sometimes. "Iggy Pop is American." But England had lost the loving mood. "Now, if you wanted to call me 'Ziggy,'" he mused, "that would make more sense."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Why would I call you Ziggy?"

"After Ziggy Stardust, git." He couldn't believe America hadn't made that connection. What other Ziggys even existed?

But there was another pause. Then: "Dude, Ziggy Stardust was an alien."

England sat up abruptly, held the phone at arm's length, and stared at it before returning it to his ear. "You idiot! Ziggy Stardust is just a made-up bloke! David Bowie, an Englishman, do you hear me, an _Englishman_, invented him! It was just a marketing ploy to sell more records!" He was now roaring into the telephone, and when he realized this, he stopped, and took a deep breath. And another. "Just a marketing ploy," he concluded weakly, leaning back again, trying to calm himself, feeling like an arse.

Both nations were silent for a moment. "Yeah, w-well, okay. Uh, I'll see you at the airport?" America finally stammered.

"Y-yeah. See you then, love." With an exchange of air kisses England hung up the phone and banged his head back against the couch. What a bloody idiot he could be sometimes. How did he let himself get pulled into these asinine situations? They were so stupid, and he always felt like a child afterwards.

After he'd finished the pot of tea he felt calmer. England got off the couch and took the tray back to the kitchen. He washed up and put everything properly away. Bloody hell, he really was looking forward to the meeting, and not just because he'd get to see America. He wanted a break from all the housecleaning and other shite! Some breakfast in bed would be nice, he mused, imagining America in nothing but a frilly apron, bringing him a tray one morning. Hah.

He then headed for the bathroom, having decided that a soothing hot shower would get the ridiculous conversation (and subsequent embarrassment) out of his mind. Water on, clothes off; he threw them into a heap in the corner of the small bathroom before entering the shower stall. Maybe while he showered he could also spend some time thinking of romantic things for the two of them to do while he was in Washington for the meeting. He hadn't been to America's capital in quite a few years, because whenever the hero hosted a meeting, he changed the location. Wanted to show off his expansive lands. So there had been meetings in Texas, California, Chicago, Seattle, even sweltering Miami, since the last time they'd had one in Washington. The island nation would have to concentrate fairly strongly to remember what sort of romantic activities the capital city had.

England loved romance. No, he _adored_ it. He adored every little romantic thing that had ever been invented: roses, chocolates, champagne, moonlit walks, rom-coms, pet names (he snorted: "Iggy" didn't count), surprise presents, matching jewelry…you name it, he loved it. All those things that proved two people loved each other. Over the years he had done many attentive things for America, bought many nice gifts, and concocted quite a few elaborate romantic fantasies as well. These were all tucked away in the back of his mind for reference.

Fantasies they remained, though, because the hero, by contrast, didn't have a romantic bone in his body. When England sent roses, America would respond, "Thanks for the flowers, babe," but that was it. When the island nation tried to croon sweet talk to him, America got distracted by something. When they held hands, his wild gestures made prolonged contact impossible. Gifts were often abandoned somewhere in the big house, only to be discovered months later during a heroic cleaning spree; in winter, all the cards England had sent were used to light fires in the family room's expansive fireplace.

One time, about a year ago, England had asked him point-blank whether he believed in romance or not. Not an accusation of any sort, just a plain old question. America's response? "Dude," a wide-eyed grin, and a quick kiss on the lips.

England wouldn't give up, though. He continued to pepper America with all the loving gestures he could think of. He needed his boyfriend to understand just how strongly he felt, to know the Brit always was thinking of him. Cards, gifts, the daily phone calls…someday, he felt, the hero would finally get it, and begin reciprocating, but until then England would keep pushing. More than anything he wanted to receive this kind of constant attention from America. He didn't lecture, didn't say anything about it, just kept sending candy and presents and emails, hoping his lover would get the message. America could learn this lesson, if he woke up and put his mind to it.

Now the steam of the shower began to fill his senses, and the apricot-scented shampoo ran down his body, interrupting his musings. His thoughts turned to his lover's body and the secret games they played, whether in England's large cushy bed or America's big firm one. Oh, bloody hell…now he'd have to wank, or else he'd be frustrated all evening. Well, so be it. As his hands began the familiar routine, he let his mind drift to the strong, golden hero again, and he smiled. He could live without the romance, for now.

…

_I'm going to finish up "Estonia's Love Life" and that will be the end of that universe. This new story/new universe will have different characters taking center stage from time to time, though it is primarily focused on England and Romano._

_Hope you have fun reading! _


	2. Chapter 2

The tomato bastard had the best ass in Europe, Romano thought dimly. Maybe even the whole damn world. Spain was bent over the back of the dark leather sofa, and the Italian was taking his pleasure with all the vigor he could muster. He glanced down, half his mind on the physical sensations and half on that delicious view. The clock began to strike eight; Spain whimpered "Uh – oh, _sí,_ Lovi, Lovi," and that weak plea was enough to send the half-nation over the edge. His thrusts kept time with every remaining clock chime, and by the time the ring of the last bell had faded, he had too.

Panting, Romano collapsed across Spain's sweaty back, feeling the blood pounding in his veins, hearing his friend's gasps for breath and his own. Dammit, the bastard was always so sexy this way! He grinned and kissed him on the shoulder, hoping he'd get his strength back quickly, so he could have another go. This was his favorite way to spend time with the older nation, no question.

Spain had set the ambience carefully, with candles and incense, though Romano hadn't noticed. He never did. Whenever he got within ten miles of Spain (the man or the country) all he could think about was sex; he was the only nation who'd ever made the ex-pirate bend over and take it…and _like it._ Romano felt an awesome sense of power from that, and exploited it at every opportunity. He knew Spain was just as eager for it as he was.

Ever since Romano had reached the age of consent the two of them had been lovers. The tomato bastard was absolutely perfect in bed, accommodating all of Romano's sexual whims. _All_ of them. All he had to do was suggest something, and Spain leaped into action. And the two of them had never had a single fight in all that time. Oh, sometimes Romano got angry, but Spain was always happy to back down. Dammit, how much better could it get?

Sometimes he wondered just how far Spain would go to please him. What if Romano wanted to watch him make love to someone else? Would the bastard agree? Romano hadn't been happy with that concept, so he'd never asked. He didn't want to watch. He wanted to _do._

He flopped down on the sofa now, trying to catch his breath while the exhausted older nation rushed around cleaning up the mess. Spain bundled their pile of emergency bath towels into a laundry basket, pulled on a pair of pants without fastening them, and collapsed next to Romano on the couch.

"Awesome. As always." The half-nation chuckled and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

"Lovi, you're such a rough lover sometimes." Spain took his hand and kissed it.

Romano let him do this, because he was too weak to pull away. "And you love every minute of it, don't you, bastard?" He smirked without bothering to look at his friend. Spain didn't need to answer. Romano knew the truth.

"Lie down with me," Spain purred, drawing the Italian closer.

Mm. Might as well. He was really tired. He didn't speak, but settled in, face to face with his lover, and nestled close. Spain awkwardly shook a blanket over the two of them, and Romano finally allowed himself to sleep.

…

"Don't go to that _estupido_ meeting next week, Lovi." Spain poured them each a glass of fine Italian red wine before snuggling up to Romano on the wide, comfortable deck chair a little while later. "Everyone else is going, too. Stay here and play with me?" He wrapped an arm around the younger nation; Romano permitted this, because it was a little cool outside.

"Pfft." He gazed up at the stars. "I can't do that, you know that. I have to stop my country from turning into a private potato bastard playground! You should go to the meeting, too, moron. Take more of an interest." He poked Spain with a delicate snort. He couldn't believe he, Italy Romano, was lecturing someone about work!

It was true, though. There were some things in the world you simply had to be attentive to, and the administration of Italy was his key project, since Veneziano couldn't focus on it very well. It didn't take much, really. Attending meetings, some paperwork – not really a big deal. It was certainly nice to get out of town once in a while, even if sitting through the boring meetings was the payback for the as-it-were vacation. He wondered why Spain couldn't get this through his head, why the bastard didn't care about how his own country was being run.

Romano glanced sidelong at him. Sometimes he wondered if the stupid tomato bastard had any kind of brain at all in that delicious body of his.

On the other hand, it didn't really matter, did it? Because he _did_ have the delicious body, and that body was Romano's private playground. He smiled secretly, sipping the wine, and tucked his feet up.

"Will you at least stay with me tonight?" Spain asked, his lips soft against Romano's ear. "Since I won't see you for a while, when you go to your American meeting?"

"Mm. Maybe. My flight leaves tomorrow night, though. I need to get home and pack." But the wine coursed through him, strengthening him. He felt renewed and ready to take Spain again…and again…dammit…Romano began to squirm on the seat a little bit. Maybe he _should_ stay. He could already think of several things he wished he'd done when they were playing, and was trying to figure out how to accomplish them tonight. Plus a whole week without any sex would be infuriating.

"Hah, it's not like I'd keep you here all day tomorrow! You'll be fine. Will you stay?" Spain pulled him closer.

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Sure, why not. It's a bit too late to be heading home now, anyway." He sipped again and felt the bastard draw away from him.

"Lovi, you – you were planning to stay all along, weren't you," the older nation laughed.

"No," Romano responded with another smirk.

But they both knew he was lying.

…

"Dammit! I'm going to miss my flight, you tomato-brained _idiota_!"


	3. Chapter 3

England was not happy about this flight; it was too late in the day. He preferred earlier flights, but hadn't scheduled this until it was too late and the only flight available. He'd been late calling a cab, and traffic had been hideous. And he had to fly _coach!_ He was in a foul mood already as he boarded the plane, and at this point simply hoped he'd be able to sleep for part of the way there. At least he'd gotten an aisle seat. He always felt cramped when he was stuck by the window.

Oh. Dear God, how had he gotten a seat next to Romano? Why wasn't the little git sitting with Spain, or at least in first class? Blast, now he'd have to watch every word out of his mouth so he didn't set off the famous temper.

The Italian, wrapped in an airline blanket already, was reading something on a tablet and hadn't looked up. Might as well get it over with. "Hi," England said, stowing his gear and plopping into the seat.

Romano looked up, nodded. "Hi." Then he went right back to his tablet.

That was good. At least England wouldn't be stuck making awkward small talk with him all the way across the Atlantic. He clipped his seat belt, pulled out his book, and began to read.

...

Later, the flight attendant brought the drinks cart by. England asked for tea, Romano coffee. Once they'd been served, she moved on, and England absently sipped his tea while continuing to read.

When the plane hit a patch of turbulence he caught his empty cup as it fell off the tray table, but Romano hadn't fared so well. "Shit. H-hey, bastard, do you have a spare napkin?"

The blond glanced over to see Romano's tray table covered in spilt coffee. "Yes. Here." He handed over his napkin and waved for the flight attendant, who hastened back with extra napkins after taking a look at the mess.

Once it had been all cleaned up Romano turned to him, blushing. "Th-thanks."

"Don't worry about it. Seems like we always hit turbulence right when they've served the drinks, doesn't it?" he joked.

"Pfft. Yes." Romano picked up his tablet and began to read again.

England went back to reading also. He'd brought a paperback with some of H. G. Wells' classic science fiction, which was one of his default things to read on a plane. Always satisfying, mostly lighthearted.

Eventually he began to feel sleepy on this late flight; even the Time Traveller's exploits couldn't keep him awake. He slid the book into the seat pocket and leaned his head back to try to catch a nap.

…

Romano snuggled down into Spain's warm lap, the noise of the plane's engines pulling him out of his drowsy state for a few moments. He could feel the bastard's hand resting on his hip, and smiled, thinking of all the things that hand might do to him later, once they'd landed.

Wait.

Spain was not on this flight. Then who was he – oh, _fuck_, he was lying on the tea bastard's lap, wasn't he? Jesus, how the fuck had that happened? He panicked but held himself still, wondering what to do. Why did England have his hand on Romano's hip? What did he think he was doing, dammit?

On the other hand, what the hell was Romano doing, snuggling up like this?

He forced deep, calm breaths, keeping his eyes closed while his thoughts raced. M-maybe the bastard was asleep? That would make sense. But how could Romano tell? Without twisting around and waking him up, he couldn't, that's how. But then – uh – how was he supposed to get out of this idiotic situation?

He decided to wait until they hit some turbulence, or something, and then pretend he'd been jolted awake. Maybe that way England wouldn't really understand what had been going on. He did _not_ want to deal with an English temper tantrum; if he made the bastard mad, he'd start shouting and call Romano a – a ganker, or whatever that stupid English word was. No, he'd stay calm, bide his time, and pretend he'd been asleep the whole time. Maybe England would need to use the rest room and would wake up on his own. _Dammit!_ He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut.

…

England, drowsy himself, felt the hero snuggle deeper into his lap, and rested his hand on America's hip. It was rare for the younger nation to let go this way, to relax in public. It felt very –

What?

America wasn't on this flight. England was on a flight _to_ America. So who was –

Bollocks! Romano was lying in his lap? England was so embarrassed he didn't know what to do. In shock, he opened his eyes wide and looked down; Romano seemed comfortably asleep. Blast. Well, he could at least take his hand off the wanker's hip. God only knew what the Italian would say or do if he woke up to find himself in this position. He had the worst temper in all of Europe, and England could only imagine the scene that would ensue. He forced himself to stay calm, though looking at the dark hair fanned out on his lap, feeling the weight of the brunet on his legs, was making him panic. How had Romano managed to relax like this? And why?

W-well, maybe if England pretended he'd just awakened, he could fool the Italian a little. Confuse him enough that he wouldn't understand what had been going on. England stretched, hugely, artificially, hands straight up into the air, shifting and yawning with a loud fake groan, and Romano sat bolt upright. "Huh? Hey, what?" the brunet asked breathlessly.

Good. "Eh? Sorry, I was asleep, did you say something?" He yawned widely again, for effect.

"N-no, I – I was asleep too, I guess." Romano grabbed the fallen airline pillow from his lap and wedged it firmly between his ear and the window, closing his eyes.

Whew. England was very glad he'd gotten through that one. He got out his laptop to do some actual work for the remainder of the flight. No more naps for him!

…

Later, when Romano had awakened, the flight attendant brought them drinks and extra napkins, which made them both chuckle. "At least you're prepared now," England joked, after she'd gone.

"Bastard. What do you want to bet we don't hit any more turbulence at all?"

"Bet you a Euro."

"Deal."

There were only a few minutes left until they began the long descent, so England kept chatting. "Not sitting with Spain?"

"Ah, the dumb bastard isn't coming to the meeting."

The blond thought about this. "I haven't seen him at a meeting for a long time."

"Pfft. Too lazy. He just wants to lay around and – uh – snooze all the time." Romano smirked a little.

England didn't know what to say to that smirk, and he couldn't make himself say anything nice about Spain, so he picked up his book and started reading again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Romano do the same.

Soon the captain announced their arrival, and both nations began packing up their items in anticipation of landing. As they exited the plane, the flight attendant gave the blond a weary smile, but he was so beat that he barely acknowledged it.

The airport was a bright noisy mess of swarming people. Everyone departing the aircraft was irritable, even the crew. Since neither of them had checked bags, England and Romano headed towards the exit together, not speaking. England was so tired, so bloody tired, but he knew America would be here to pick him up soon, so he fought for clarity.

Outside the night air was cool and bracing, which helped, though it also smelled of exhaust fumes. The island nation sat on his battered blue carryon to wait.

Romano gave him a funny look. "The shuttle's over here, bastard." He waved at the hotel shuttle bus.

"Eh? Oh, no, America's picking me up. I'm staying at his place." Did that sound too cocky? After all, he was dating the leader of the free world (no matter how much it pained him to admit that). Romano apparently couldn't do any better than Spain. Hah.

"Okay. See you later."

"You owe me a Euro."

"Cheh, yes, I'll pay you tomorrow." Romano nodded and boarded the shuttle; Austria and Switzerland, behind him, waved to England before climbing aboard as well.

The shuttle pulled away. England decided to amuse himself by guessing what kind of car America was driving these days. He changed them almost as often as others changed shirts! With a snort he began scanning the oncoming cars and counting.

No – no – no – no – no – After fifteen bloated SUVs he gave up, leaned his head forward, and rested it on his knees.

The blare of a horn awakened him with a start. Bloody hell, he'd fallen asleep out here? Well, at least America had arrived. He stood up, checking his wallet and phone to make sure they were secure (they were) and turned to look for his boyfriend.

But the only car in the area now was that of a young girl picking up her parents. England kicked his suitcase angrily and pulled the phone out again.

"Land of the free, home of the brave! Hey, Iggy, how are you? I've been trying to call you all day. Where have you been?"

"You complete idiot. I've been at the airport for the last hour, waiting for you to pick me up!" He kicked his suitcase again. No wonder it looked like shit. Maybe he deserved a new one, just for having to suffer this way.

"Oh! Whoops. Okay, hang in there, dude, and I'll be right over. Okay?"

"Just hurry, America. I'm exhausted."

"I'm on my way!"

…

"You really are an arse," England grumbled, throwing his bag into the trunk of the relatively small red car America had brought.

The hero embraced him and kissed his forehead. "Ah, don't sweat it, man. Soon we'll be home and you can sleep. You can even sleep in the car, if you want. I've had enough coffee to get us home safely." He flashed a thumbs-up.

But England knew if he napped in the car he'd be even worse off when they got to America's house and he had to wake up again. He climbed into the car and clipped the seat belt, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and watch the dark city roll past. He didn't like Washington, not at all. Too many bad memories, and too many overblown monuments. He snorted as they passed one, but America didn't hear him.

When they got to the house America waved him towards the door. "You go in. I'll bring your stuff."

"Thanks, love." He felt much mellower now that he knew a real bed was in his future. England stumbled up the stairs to the big bedroom, stripping inelegantly, and washed up. If he fell asleep right away, he'd get about four hours of sleep. Not good, but not critically bad, either. He could function adequately on four hours.

By the time America reached the bedroom, England had already slipped between the cool white sheets. "Give me a minute," the hero said, heading into the bathroom; the island nation simply grunted an acknowledgement.

He was nearly asleep when he felt the bed shift, felt America slide closer to spoon behind him. Ah, God, that was a wonderful feeling, safe in those strong warm arms.

And then he felt the bed shift again, felt a hand slide further down to tease him. "Selfish wanker. Why are you starting something? I'm completely exhausted." He was so tired he couldn't even get angry, and desperately hoped America would stop what he was doing and let him sleep.

But he didn't; he began planting tiny kisses on England's shoulder blades. "Aw, come on, babe. I've missed you so much. Roll over and give it to me," he laughed.

That hand kept working, and in a very few seconds England knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep unless he took action first. He flipped over to face the younger nation. "You're a complete git!" He pushed America back onto the pillows and raised himself up on his knees.

"Stuff's on the nightstand," America grinned cheekily, ignoring the insult. He must have known England would cave. What a bloody irritant he could be sometimes. Damn him…The island nation didn't even bother to answer, just grabbed a condom and the bottle of lubricant and made use of them in an almost haphazard fashion.

Tonight was not a night for romance or seduction. England finished the job quickly, not even taking the time to appreciate it. When he was done, he tied off the condom and flung it into the waiting trash can before collapsing on the bed. "Good night, love," he managed to mumble, before passing out completely. "Thanks."

Within seconds he was snoring. America, still focused on his own satisfaction, giggled a little as his hand completed its work. Poor old exhausted England. Normally they took turns, and tonight had technically been America's turn, but he'd known Iggy wouldn't stand for that. Besides, he wanted him to be completely awake and sober next time America got his own way. He wanted to see that pretty pale body beneath him, wriggling in ecstasy, hear that accented voice begging him for release…oh, yes, that was exactly what he wanted.

He came, giggling some more, and cleaned everything up before rolling to his own side of the bed and swinging into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

America was kind enough to let England sleep as late as possible the next morning, so why was he still being so damn crabby? "Come on, Iggy! I did something nice for you."

"Git. You know I hate being rushed in the morning." England threw on his uniform, brushed his teeth, scrambled to get out the door on time.

"You'll be fine. Anyway, the meeting agenda's really lame today, so if you want to take a nap I don't mind." America pinched his cheek and unlocked the car. Today he'd decided to drive his Hummer. It was just _that much_ more impressive to come rolling into the hotel parking lot in this black beast!

"I can't do that! What's the bloody point of coming to the meeting if I'm just going to sleep? Honestly, America, sometimes I wonder about you." They got into the beast and buckled up.

"Pfft. Don't worry about me. I've got it all under control."

"Right." England leaned his head against the window. "Just get us to the meeting, will you?"

"All right! Nap in here if you like." America turned on the radio and sang happily along with the top hits all the way to the hotel, completely oblivious to England's rising irritation.

…

This hotel had a great big conference room and it was attractively decorated, too, which – the hero had to admit – many of his hotels were not. But he was filled with pride as he and Iggy came in; he looked at all the other nations here at his place, and America felt good.

The island nation got himself a cup of tea from the enormous buffet table and sat scowling at it. America was still a little upset by Iggy's crabby morning behavior. (_Yes_ he was always like this, but America had been so nice, letting him sleep late! Couldn't he make an effort to be sweet about it?) Instead of trying to chat, the tall blond busied himself with logistics – making sure the projector was running, checking the buffet, greeting nations, and so on. The Brit would calm down eventually. He always did, once he actually woke up.

When he had a moment the host sipped his coffee and checked the room again. Pretty much everybody looked weary, though Prussia was grinning and seemed quite alert. Did he _ever_ come down from that egotistical high? And the Nordics were all making a lot of noise in the back. Except Sweden, of course. But the rest of them sounded like they were at a festival.

Oh, here came the Italy brothers and Germany. Man. Romano looked even madder than England! But then, he was always kind of bitchy to everyone. And America knew Spain wasn't going to attend this meeting. Maybe that's why Romano was so pissed off. Or maybe he just wasn't a morning person.

Iggy saw him come in too, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a tired smile. "Cough it up, git." He held out his hand.

"Bastard," Romano laughed. He pulled a coin from his pocket, flipping it through the air across the wide oval table. It landed in England's palm with a loud smacking sound; he slipped it into his pocket before smirking at the Italian, who laughed again and walked to the buffet table. Then Iggy's face went right back to being crabby.

America wondered what that was all about. Must have been something fun, to make those two smile this early in the day. He didn't pay much attention to Europe, as a rule, having so much work to do in his own home, but now he began to worry about what sort of things his boyfriend got up to when they weren't together. Maybe he'd have to step up his game, if Iggy was having fun with other nations instead of focusing on the hero. Though how that could be true, he simply couldn't imagine. Not with all the emails and shit Iggy was always sending him. How would he even have time to talk to anybody else? Hmm. He'd need to think about this.

Russia strode into the room and shut the door. "That's everyone, America," he smiled, so the host put his personal life aside and began the meeting, rapping on the table with a fist to get everybody's attention.

…

At the end of the day, he led England to the new pub, just a few blocks away. America was really happy with himself for focusing today; there had only been six or seven digressions on his heroic nature, rather than the usual twelve to fifteen. It was still early; there were a lot of pedestrians on the street.

"Oh!" Now he remembered how he'd wanted to pay more attention to Iggy, so he grabbed his friend's hand, squeezing it. "I'm glad the meeting's over. We need to rest a little."

Seeming surprised by the gesture, England held on tightly, smiling. "It's a nice evening, if a bit chilly. I could certainly do with a pint." He squeezed back.

They walked on, chatting of this and that, dodging people. "Oh!" America yelled again, this time dropping Iggy's hand and running on a little ways ahead. Thank goodness there were still some street vendors out at this hour.

In a moment he returned to a confused England, beaming, with two armfuls of roses, mixed pink and white. "Sorry, they didn't have red. Here." He thrust them all at his boyfriend, who scowled.

"America, what the bloody hell are you doing? We're on our way to a _pub!_ What am I going to do with all these blasted roses?"

"Oh." Deflating, America let his arms fall, and all the roses scattered on the sidewalk, where most were immediately crushed under the heels of the scurrying passersby. Yeah, he hadn't thought of that. But it was a romantic gesture! Wasn't Iggy always being romantic? Why wouldn't he like this? America blinked a few times, not knowing what to say or do. Then he took off his glasses and polished them on his tie, so he wouldn't have to look at anything.

England didn't seem so confident, either. "I'm – I'm sorry, love," he said quietly, red-faced and not meeting the hero's eyes. "That was a harsh reaction to a beautiful gesture." He reached out and took America's hand shyly.

"Dude" was America's only response; he still didn't know what else to say. He used his other hand to put the glasses back on.

England stepped forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Thank you for thinking of it," he whispered, stepping back. "It was surprising and unusual."

"Yeah, well, whatever." He blinked a few times and kissed back. "You're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine! What's the matter with you tonight?"

Man, Iggy must still be really sleepy. Normally after a meeting he was all snuggly and shit. Well, the hell with the romance garbage. The hero turned to walk down the street, yanking his friend along; maybe America just wasn't cut out for romance. England had never actually complained about it, so he must be all right with things just the way they were.

Yeah. America had been overreacting. There was no way Iggy was out having fun with other nations. Good. He was glad he'd figured that all out. Now – "On to the brewpub, man!"


	5. Chapter 5

By the end of the week, everyone, even the hero, was fed up with the whole blasted business of running the countries. England was certainly sick of it. On the plus side of things, he and America had slipped right back into their normal relationship. This hadn't really surprised him, though he'd begun feverishly wishing for another romantic gesture like the spontaneous roses. Every time America started to speak, England's heart leaped, but it was always the same old shite. He had to admit it had been weird that night, and he still wondered what had prompted it. All those roses…part of him was hopeful that this was a new trend, and part of him was a little worried about it. But he'd wait and see.

Everything had settled down, and they'd had a nice, standard week, when not working. And England had gotten over his jet lag just in time to go back home. Bloody hell. At least his workload for next week was fairly light, and he could do a lot of it from home. That was always reassuring.

Tonight was their last night together. The island nation had bought them each cheesy little matching friendship bracelets, because America had refused to wear a ring. Well, all right. England could sort of understand that. He fiddled with the woven rope bracelet on his wrist as America cuddled him on his lap. England was pretty sure the only reason the hero wore it was because it was red, white and blue, and he wondered – but didn't quite dare ask – whether he'd keep wearing it, after England had gone home.

"Did you have a good week?" America asked, kissing the tip of his nose.

"Pfft. Of course I did, nutburger. Except for the meetings."

America took mock offense. "You don't like my meetings? Iggy, I'm wounded," he laughed, rolling his eyes heavenward.

"Don't call me Iggy," England groaned, twining his arms around America's neck. "Don't talk at all…"

…

The next evening America dropped him at the bustling airport with a quick kiss and a promise to call or email. England waved, dragging his old wheeled carryon behind him, and headed inside. He was in a much better mood for this return flight than he'd been on the way over. Maybe he'd even stay up and read or work, all the way back.

He passed through Security easily, carrying nothing to set off any alarms; made it to his gate with plenty of time to spare. Good. Maybe he could catch forty winks now, as long as he could trust somebody to wake him up. England scanned the area for empty seats, for friendly nations.

There were a few nations at the gate, most sitting quietly talking to friends. Romano was alone, though, with empty seats flanking him. Hah, probably _nobody_ wanted to risk setting that temper loose! Well, England might as well sit there, unless the git told him to blow. He decided not to try napping, though. What if he ended up in Romano's lap this time? He snorted. "Hey."

"Oh. Hi." Romano set his tablet aside. "Hey, listen. I wanted to go get a cup of coffee, but I didn't want to leave my shit alone. Will you watch it while I go?"

"Sure. Will you please pick me up a bottle of water?" England fished in his pocket but only came up with the Euro coin they'd bet. "Bollocks." But he held it out.

"Don't sweat it, bastard. I can afford a fucking bottle of water for you." Romano waved it aside and headed to the coffee stand.

England watched him go, absently shoving the coin back into his pocket. Eh, well, maybe Romano wasn't such a git after all. He waved to Austria and Switzerland, sitting all the way over by the window, and watched the news on TV for a while, until Romano got back with their drinks.

"Flying coach again?" the half-nation asked, when he'd returned and they'd begun to drink.

"No. I was lucky enough to get a first class seat for the return. You?"

"Pfft. I always fly coach. Have to save money. Be nice to try first class someday, though." Romano scowled, possibly at the thought of being stuck in coach for the rest of his life. That would be a bloody depressing prospect, England had to agree.

"You could take it once in a while," he suggested. "Wouldn't break the bank."

The brunet considered this. "Yeah, maybe. Next time we have a really long flight, maybe, Japan or something. I always take the fucking train when we have meetings in Europe."

"Sound thinking."

They finished drinking without speaking much; Romano alternated his attention between the tablet and the activity at the gate, but England just looked around and daydreamed a little, eyes occasionally flicking back to the television, missing America already.

A few minutes later boarding started; as a first-class traveler, the island nation got to board early. He threw the empty water bottle into the nearest recycle bin and nodded to Romano. "See you around."

"Take care, bastard."

…

Romano was deep into his new novel when the drinks cart came by, but he forced himself to set the tablet aside, and accepted a cup of coffee. "Here," the flight attendant told him, handing him a thick stack of napkins. "These are for you."

"Wh-what's this for?" Dammit, was he getting some kind of international reputation as a slob?

She smiled. "A British gentleman in first class asked me to give them to you."

At that, Romano felt himself fighting a smile, and he put the napkins on his tray table. "Thank you – and thank him, too."

So the blond bastard had a sense of humor! Good to know, he thought, sipping his coffee, and finally allowing that smile to emerge. Not such a temperamental bastard after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The 2014 Olympics would be held in Russia. That nation, in the spirit of things, had arranged for a series of sporting events for himself and his fellow meeting attendees, as a sort of teambuilding, or friendly competition, event, even though it was early summer and the Olympics were still nearly a year away. Today had been the last day of the bloody meetings; the sporting events were scheduled for the next day, Friday.

England and America had opted not to go out tonight. The island nation had instead treated them to room service, and they were snuggled together, laughing and feeding each other in the bed. He'd been laughing so hard that he'd spilled fried rice all down the front of his uniform, but he didn't care. Didn't need to wear the bloody thing any more this week. "I don't know why I let you talk me into this rubbish." England suppressed a burp, but he was grinning.

"Because it's so much fun!" America stuffed an entire egg roll into his mouth and chomped it amusingly. "Why do they even have Chinese food on the menu here? We're in Russia!"

"Git. They have a lot of different things here. I just thought Chinese was a kind of all-around favorite, you know?"

"Ha ha ha! Had to choose Chinese because they don't have fish and chips, right, Iggy?" America cackled and poked his friend in the stomach.

"Ow. Wanker." England picked up a dumpling and shoved it into his boyfriend's mouth, just to shut him up.

"Mfr, mfr, mmm, hmm," America mumbled and choked.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, little brat."

The loud blond swallowed the dumpling and reached for a glass of water. "You can really be a jerk. Now, finish eating, will you? I wanna mess around." He pouted.

"Bloody selfish, that's what you are."

"Maybe. Maybe I deserve to be selfish because I'm so amazing." America hopped off the bed and stripped. "Come on, man, finish up and get all that food crap off the bed." He stretched, grinning, and poked England in the shoulder. "Come _on!_ I want to see you naked, too, you know."

But the island nation wasn't listening; half an egg roll hung from his open mouth as he stared at the hero, posing naked in their hotel room.

…

England had known this was a bad idea. He always ate too much and got too aroused at the same time, and then he was too lethargic to play much. But it was so much fun, so cuddly and loving! Yet every time they did this, he ended up just lying there, groaning (in gastric pain, rather than pleasure) while America – who was somehow always unaffected by all the food they'd consumed – did whatever he wanted to do.

Maybe this was the wanker's ploy to tire him out before the sports day tomorrow. Hah.

Cuddled together in the bed afterwards, England finally began to feel a little less bloated, and took some deep breaths. The hero snored in his ear, but he didn't care. Ah, he didn't even really care if he made a bad showing tomorrow. He was just happy to be here in America's arms.

…

It had turned out to be a fine day for outdoor sports. The sun was up, the air was clear, and everyone seemed in a festive and fun mood as they milled around the new areas, staring and exclaiming in amazement. As if the bastards had never seen a fucking Olympic arena before. Idiots.

Romano felt full of energy, and actually excited about this shit, because the first event was a five-kilometer run and he knew that he could win it, or at least come in second if his idiot _fratello_ won. He had a strategy: he'd pretend he was retreating from an enemy in war. Nobody could outrun the Italy brothers! He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, grinning. (He also knew he'd suck at the other shit – pole vaulting, if he could even work up his nerve to try, and hurdles, and long jump – so he wanted to do very well in the first run.) He _would_ do well, dammit. He braced himself against a warm brick wall and stretched his calves, one after the other, ignoring everyone else.

Last week he'd begged Spain to attend this meeting. Spent three days at the bastard's place, trying to persuade him, because he couldn't stand the idea of another whole week without sex. But of course Spain hadn't joined him, not even to loaf around the room during the day and screw around all night, which would have suited the Italian just fine. Romano had been very pissed off for the first few days, and hadn't really spoken to anyone other than Veneziano. Hadn't even bothered offering feedback in the damn meetings. At least he hadn't had to resort to beating off at night. At least he had himself in control that much.

But now, waiting for the race to start, he was actually glad Spain hadn't come along. Too much sex and Romano would have been too wiped out to win the race. That would be fucking embarrassing, because he knew his _fratello_ would place in the top three. Yeah, he'd be fine. Going without sex was like endurance training, right? He laughed out loud a little, catching England's eye and nodding at him. He got a nod and grin in return. Ah, what the fuck, might as well go chat with the bastard.

"Hey," he said, when he got to the blond's side. "Eat my dust."

England smirked. "As if. I'm in – in prime condition." But he didn't look too confident.

Romano decided to push him. "Still have that Euro?"

"Are you kidding me? It's not like I framed it as a bloody memento or something."

"Chigi! That's not what I meant. I meant, do you want to bet on the fucking race." Romano rubbed his hand over his face. What a bastard he could be.

"Ah. Ha. Well, you mean the outcome of the whole race? Or just between you and me?"

"Just between us, bastard." He felt a little less embarrassed now. "Winner gets a Euro." Then in a much more sarcastic tone, "_Any _Euro coin will be acceptable."

England actually laughed. "Sure. See if you can keep up."

Before Romano could respond, the announcer called all the racing nations to the starting line. They bunched up in a pack. Romano tried to get near the front, but too many elbows and knees were in his way. He patted his brother on the back and Veneziano returned an excited "Ve!" Dammit, Romano was going to do his damnedest to beat his brother today. He was tired of Veneziano getting all the accolades. England didn't stand a fucking chance.

The nations took the starting position.

When the starting gun sounded, Romano and his _fratello_ did indeed swarm to the front of the group, very quickly. They kept pace with each other for a little while, kicking up dust, but then North Italy pulled ahead with a "Ve, see you later!"

Romano put on speed to catch him. The fucking potato bastard passed him next, concentrating fiercely. _Dammit._ Of all the stupid nations – and then Japan, too! What the fuck?

He ran faster, trying to catch those Axis bastards, and absolutely _determined_ to stay ahead of England to win their bet, and then stumbled after feeling a pressure on his back. He fell over his feet, tumbling heavily into the gutter, and felt a sharp and excruciating pain in his arm. He screamed, but it dwindled into a moan as he weakened. Just before passing out from the pain, he thought he heard a fading "Kolkolkolkol…"


	7. Chapter 7

Despite his cocky words to Romano, England wasn't running so well today. Even America, who was usually more of a long-distance runner, had passed him. Looked like the stupid "feed-him-and-fuck-him" strategy had worked. Pfft. He could see the hero up ahead, neck-and-neck with Belarus, but nobody else was around.

Wait. Someone had dropped out already? The Brit smirked; he had plenty of energy left to finish the race. He saw both the others glance at the seated figure and keep running.

But when England got closer he saw the person hadn't simply dropped out. The fallen nation lay in the gutter, his arm at a bizarre angle. It was Romano! His skin was greyish-white and he lay limp, unconscious. England stopped racing and hurried over to him.

He darted a look at the retreating America, glanced back at Romano's twisted arm, and then threw up in the gutter.

When he'd recovered, he called out to a passerby for a telephone and dialed emergency services. Romano's pulse was weak, but it was there. England knew the patient shouldn't be moved in case it did further damage, so he sat on the curb to wait. He tried not to look at the crooked arm again, either. It was too disgusting.

Other nations ran past, throwing curious looks their way, but no one slowed except Canada. England waved him on. "I've got it. Just go." Canada went. England checked for North Italy, but he must have been ahead of Romano. He wouldn't have kept running if he'd seen his brother fall.

How the bloody hell had Romano broken his arm? Just by tripping and falling? That seemed too simple for such a scary fracture. England held Romano's cold hand in his, willing him to be all right, to stay strong; every now and then he babbled something to the unconscious nation. He wondered how many others had run past the fallen Italian, but that made him panic – made him wonder why America hadn't stopped to help – so he thought about something else instead. Anything else. Examined the gravel, checked the angle of the sun in the sky, looked around for the bloody ambulance.

Eventually EMTs came and strapped Romano securely to a gurney. "Are you coming to the hospital?" the driver asked.

Yes, England decided, he'd need to. He didn't have a phone of his own with him, and had no idea where Veneziano might be. It was the only humane thing to do. "Yes," he responded, and they helped him climb into the back of the ambulance before racing away.

…

At the hospital the EMTs hurried Romano into an emergency room while England went to the desk and gave the administrative particulars, including Romano's name and the name of the hotel they were all staying at. "And your name, sir?" the desk attendant eventually asked.

"Arthur Kirkland." He'd deemed it wiser to give their human names than to go through a lot of nation explanations.

She finished making notes and asked him if he wanted to wait. Of course he did! He sat in the waiting room and tried to leaf through a magazine. His thoughts, his conscience, wouldn't allow this, though. Instead, he kept envisioning America and Belarus running past Romano, looking at him, not helping.

Had the so-called hero actually run right past a fallen nation and not stopped to help? No, that couldn't be true. America obviously hadn't actually seen Romano's condition. Surely he would have helped? Maybe his glasses had been fogged up from the run, or something. That must be it. And bloody Belarus wouldn't help anybody, unless it was Russia. No sense even thinking about that part of it.

The island nation got up and paced around the waiting room for a while, trying to avoid thinking of this, trying to avoid the coughing patients, too. That would be the last straw, if he got sick while doing a good deed.

One of the EMTs came out of the hospital area and England collared him. "How is he?"

"Doctor thinks he'll be fine. Good quick response on your part. Do we know how it happened?"

"No. He was lying in the gutter when I approached."

"Well, he should be fine. Will you wait around?"

England considered this. "Yes," he decided. "I'd like to make sure he's all right."

"That could be a while."

"Still, I'll wait." The EMT left and the blond returned to a chair, crossing his legs, a foot bouncing up and down with nerves. Well, it was good news, that Romano was fine. Not fine now, that is, but that he would be. England twiddled his thumbs, flipped through a different magazine, tried not to think about America. Paced some more.

An hour later a very pretty doctor came out with a clipboard and walked directly to where he stood by the water cooler. "Mr. Kirkland?" she asked.

"Yes, how is he? The EMT said he'd be fine?"

"Yes, he's stable now. We'll keep him here overnight and if all's well he can be discharged tomorrow evening."

"That's good." England finally relaxed a little.

"However," the doctor went on, "he's extremely angry. Kept mumbling, even through the anesthesia. Mumbling that he 'wanted to kill that bastard.'"

England was a little shocked, though he tried not to show it. "I don't know why he'd be angry, though." Other than this morning, they hadn't even spoken to each other in a few months. "It might be best if I did leave, then," he decided. "I wouldn't want to agitate him while he's in this state. He needs his rest." He gave the doctor the name of the hotel and Veneziano's name. "His brother will come get him, if you call."

"Very well. Thank you again for your quick response, Mr. Kirkland."

"You're welcome," he told her, escaping out the door.

He grabbed a taxi and went straight back to the hotel, straight to his room. America wasn't there, and he was bloody glad of it. Not sure he could face him yet, not with the image of the waxen, injured Romano still fresh in his mind, not with his emotions still so unsettled. England showered, dressed, and packed his bag. He debated going to look for his boyfriend but decided he still couldn't talk to him. There were still several hours before his flight was scheduled to depart, but the blond decided to head straight to the airport. Maybe he could catch an earlier flight, process all this, before having to talk to America again. He'd make up some story to appease the hero later.

England hoped that if something like that ever happened to him, someone would take care of him, and he also hoped Romano truly would be fine. Why the git wanted to kill him, he had no bloody idea, but he'd steer clear for a while, and see how the Italian reacted, next time they met.


	8. Chapter 8

When Romano woke up in the hospital he was frightened and let out a hoarse yell; a nurse came running. "Sir?"

"Where am I? What the fuck am I doing here?" He tried to push himself up off the narrow bed before realizing his arm was immobilized.

"Please stay calm, sir." She pushed a button to summon another attendant and spoke soothingly to the agitated nation, telling him the name of the hospital. "You were in some kind of accident. But you'll be fine."

He let all his breath out in a whoosh. "Accident? I – I broke my arm?" Belligerence gone, he stared at the cast as though it would speak, and then turned to look at the implements in the hospital room. Sterilized chrome stared back at him from every surface, cold and menacing. He was terrified, and he had no fucking idea what had happened.

"Yes. We're not quite sure how it occurred. The front desk has telephoned your brother, Feliciano? He'll be here soon."

Romano flopped back and let out another huge breath. "Tell me what happened?" he begged the nurse, as she straightened the curtains, read the monitors, smiled at him.

"I really couldn't say. I just came on duty."

Then the pretty doctor entered, as if on cue, and smiled heartily at the patient. "That will be all, nurse. I'll speak to Mr. Vargas." The nurse nodded and left. After checking Romano's pulse, the doctor pulled a chair up next to the bed. "How do you feel?"

"I – I – well, I'm confused as hell," he admitted, "but my arm doesn't hurt too much. What happened?"

The doctor folded her hands primly in her lap. "We don't know. You were brought in with the broken arm; the EMTs said you were lying in the gutter."

"I don't remember this at all!" he panicked, punching the bed with his good hand.

The doctor laid a soothing hand atop his, to calm him. "You were wearing sports clothing," she offered, as a hint.

"Sports –?" That's right. There had been a race. He'd been planning to beat everyone. He'd been running, and –? His brow furrowed with the effort of thought. "I – I don't remember," he murmured, almost plaintively. "How did I get to the hospital? My brother called an ambulance?"

"No." The doctor consulted a clipboard. "Someone else. A Mr. Kirkland? Yes, Arthur Kirkland."

This name meant nothing to Romano, and he shrugged. "But nobody saw what happened?"

"Not that we know of. You were unconscious when he found you and you've been out until just now. About nine hours."

Then Romano heard a "Ve" from the hallway. "My brother's here," he announced, just before Veneziano and the potato bastard barged into the room, still in their workout gear.

"Ve, Romano! Where have you been? What _happened_, ve?" Veneziano's eyes opened wide as he stared at his bedridden brother.

The patient flapped his hand at the doctor, who gave the quick recap again. "Mr. Vargas is stable now, but we want to keep him here overnight. If there are no complications, we can release him tomorrow."

"Oh, good, _fratello._ We can take you home then. We don't mind staying another night here in Russia, right, Germany?" The tall blond nodded agreement.

Something about Russia started trying to climb out of Romano's subconscious, but he couldn't think of it, and he was tired and crabby from looking at the potato bastard. "I need to sleep," he mumbled to everyone, just to get rid of him. Fast-running bastard in his too-short running shorts. What a fucking macho showoff.

"That's a good idea," the doctor said. "Do you feel you'd like some pain medication?"

"Yes, please," he begged. He wasn't going to let himself suffer, not if medicine was available. "Go to the hotel, dumbass," he told Veneziano with a scowl. "I'll have them call you when I'm ready to go."

North Italy looked doubtful. "Ve, if you're sure? Do you want me to call Spain?"

"I'm sure, dammit. And, no. Don't call the bastard. I'll call him after we get home. There's nothing he could do anyway." Romano sighed.

The nurse came in with the pain medication. The small single room was seriously crowded by now, so Veneziano and the still-silent macho potato left the room with a wave. "Take care, _fratello_, ve!" Romano heard, as they departed. "Call if you need us!"

"Here you are." The nurse held out a cup with the pills in it and another one with water; Romano washed them down.

"Thank you. Thanks to all of you for taking care of me."

The nurse and doctor smiled at him. "It's what we do. Rest up, Mr. Vargas."

"Mm-hmm," he managed, eyes closing, as sleep took him over.

…

At some point in the middle of the night he woke up, panicked again, and then remembered what had happened and where he was. The room was faintly lit by the electronics that were active. He tried to read the monitors, but they didn't make any sense to him. Since he felt somewhat alert now, he decided to try to reconstruct this whole scenario, while flexing the fingers on his injured hand.

For several long, agonizing minutes he tried his best, but couldn't remember anything between starting the race and waking up in the hospital. Then he remembered that Veneziano had outpaced him very early on…remembered vowing to catch him. Quite clearly he also pictured the macho potato running past him. Dammit.

He must have fallen asleep again. The beeping of a monitor awoke Romano from a nightmare of Russia whacking him repeatedly with a water pipe. "Fuck," he wheezed, wishing his _fratello_ was there to talk to him, to calm him down. With his good hand he wiped sweat from his forehead and then pressed that hand against his hammering heart. He calmed down, and the beeping stopped before any nurses or doctors came in to check on him.

It wasn't until the sun began to rise that he recollected hearing that "kolkolkolkol." Right before he'd fallen. Or at least he _thought _he remembered it! H-had Russia had something to do with it? He couldn't decide whether he had actually heard that, or even been pushed, or whether he was now making that up just to explain the hospital visit! Of course Russia was just the kind of bastard to push someone out of the way, and not stop to see if he'd done any damage, either.

Maybe this was some kind of Russian ploy? Shit, and now he was trapped in the fucking hospital! Maybe it was some sinister plan to dope him with weird-ass drugs and quietly do away with him! _Chigi!_

Ah, hell, he was being stupidly melodramatic. If they were going to ply him with bizarre drugs they would already have done it, when they brought him in the ambulance.

Fuck, maybe they had! Maybe that's why he'd been unconscious for so long? Or maybe the pain he'd felt before falling had been an _injection?_ Maybe Russia had shot him with a syringe full of shit that would make him pass out, and then they'd brought him to the hospital to be a guinea pig? He began to hyperventilate. He needed to get out of here.

The blood pressure machine began to beep loudly again. He shook his head "no" and started taking deep breaths to calm down. Romano now understood he couldn't raise a scene. They'd know he'd figured it out; they might bundle him off to some secret laboratory where no one would ever find him again! He needed to stay alert and strong, calm and silent, until his brother and – and the fucking macho potato, whom he hated but who would undoubtedly be useful here – arrived to take him home. Once he was with them, he could let his guard down.

Dammit! He'd need to avoid any more food or drugs they offered him, too, just in case. At least he'd slept for a long time, and was refreshed. He'd have to stay awake until they discharged him.

This fucking paranoia wasn't really like him. Maybe he did have some weird shit in his system that was screwing up his thinking. He stared out the window at the sunrise and frowned, trying to figure out what to do.

Eventually Romano's mind got tired of the paranoia and veered off to think about the man who had called for help. He was intensely grateful that there were still some nice people in the world who would take the time to do that. Wondered what the guy had thought, coming across an unconscious man in a gutter. In a fucking _gutter,_ in his stupid sports outfit, with a goddamn broken arm. How damn undignified.

Gah, this made him angry, and he wasn't even sure he wanted Spain to find out about this business. The bastard might think less of him, for being weak, or something. He'd been planning to ask for some extra-special attention to soothe him, when they all got back. Fuck, he'd have to think about this. Have to figure out a way to play for sympathy, while not coming across as a useless baby. Dammit.

…

Despite all his fears (and his growing certainty that Russia had maliciously "done something" to him), he got out of the hospital with no incidents, in the company of Veneziano and Germany. "Thanks, bastards," he mumbled.

"Don't worry about it, ve. We're going to fly home, okay? Germany got us tickets on an airplane because we didn't think you'd want to ride a bouncy train."

"Good. Th-thanks, po-Germany."

"It is not a problem, Romano. Please just rest yourself." The three were in a cab on the way to the airport.

But Romano was so sleepy he barely registered this. "Just get me home, dammit," he mumbled, collapsing onto Veneziano's shoulder, safe at last.


	9. Chapter 9

"Dude, where have you _been_?" America wailed into the telephone. England held it away from his ear until the yelling stopped.

He was on his couch at home, in the sunny parlor, an emergency pot of tea by his elbow. England had put off this telephone call for three days, and hadn't answered America's incoming calls during that time either. But by now he knew he'd have to deal with it somehow. He needed to talk to his boyfriend and find out just what had happened. He'd almost – _almost_ – convinced himself that America hadn't seen a thing, and that was acceptable, of course, but he needed to verify this. So he'd carefully finessed the truth into a story that he hoped America would swallow. He reached out to touch the cozy-clad teapot, to ground himself, before launching into his tale.

"Love, I felt miserable during that race. So bloody sick that I went back to the hotel, and then realized I wanted to convalesce in my own home, a safe place. The meetings had drained me, and I simply wasn't comfortable. So I flew home early. I'm sorry for not telling you. I know you must have been worried." He certainly _hoped_ that America had been worried. The island nation poured himself a cup of tea, spilling a little as his hand shook, while he waited for his boyfriend's response.

"Worried! I sure was. Came back to the room after a long day of competing, _and winning_," and England could hear the laughter and pride in the hero's voice, "and you were nowhere to be found, man! I really wanted to celebrate."

England heard the slurp of a milkshake through the handset, and sighed. America sounded so normal. Not like a man with anything on his conscience. The Brit tried for a lighthearted tone. "So you did well, then?" He sipped the tea as calmly as possible.

"I won a ton of shit, or, well, a couple times I came in second or third. Russia was really pissed off, because he thought he'd do well, but he didn't win a damn thing! Ha ha ha ha! He didn't even _place!_"

That cackling laugh was still very irritating. "I'm proud of you," and he was, "and sorry I didn't get to see any of it." Here, the memory of America and Belarus passing Romano rose up again, but he shoved it out of his mind.

"Well, it's all cool. And then we had a big party that went on until about nine, but then everybody had to go back home."

England finished the tea and set the empty cup next to the pot. "Glad you had fun, love."

"Yeah. Hey, listen. The next big meeting's in Vancouver, right? Can you come over early? Mattie's giving us a special hotel room."

"Have to check the calendar. I've missed some opportunities to get ahead of my work, due to this – this sickness." He had, in fact, spent the last three days doing nothing, but it had been because of his disturbed feelings about America. He'd been unable to focus, knowing he needed to sort this out but avoiding it. That was another reason he'd finally called. He needed to get back in the groove, and to do that, he had to resolve his America-related anxiety.

"Did you, like, puke, or what?"

England rolled his eyes. "Yes, git, I 'puked' in the bloody gutter! All right? Now shut it. I don't need to sit here and relive the whole thing."

"No kidding. Too much Chinese food that night, huh? Haha! Okay, okay, I'll stop. Sorry. So, check your calendar, right? At least maybe you could come over on the Friday and we can have a weekend together."

"Sure, love. That sounds like fun, and we can make up for what I missed. I'll call you tomorrow at our usual time, and let you know."

"Deal! Take care of yourself, old man!" America blew him an air kiss and hung up.

'Old man'! That child was downright annoying at times.


	10. Chapter 10

In the end Romano had to tell Spain about it, of course. Had to explain why he couldn't come over and play. When the tomato bastard heard the full story, a few days after their return to Italy, he'd dropped the telephone and headed straight for Veneziano's house. (Romano was staying there during his convalescence.)

"Glad to see you, bastard. Those two" – he jerked his head towards the kitchen, where Germany and his _fratello_ were cooking dinner – "are driving me up the fucking wall. Like a couple of overprotective mother hens." He shook his head and rolled his eyes, patting the seat cushion next to him as an invitation.

But Spain wasn't listening. He carefully took a seat where Romano had been patting. "Lovi, Lovi, are you really all right?" The green eyes crinkled in concern, traveling up and down his friend's body, from his resigned expression to the cast and back again.

"Cheh, I am now, stupid. I'll – I'll get over it. My doctor said a couple of weeks."

There had been no strange repercussions, no evidence of any Russian foul play, and Romano had eventually concluded that he'd overreacted that night because of the stress and fear. But he still wondered whether Russia himself had hurt him during the race. That thought wouldn't quite go away, and he'd made up his mind to watch the bastard carefully next time there was a meeting, while staying well out of his reach. _Well_ out of his reach!

"Oh, I'm glad it's not so bad. You're so strong of heart, _cariño._" Spain took his injured hand and stroked the fingers lightly where they peeked out from the end of the cast. He raised them to his lips and kissed them softly. Then he let go to pet Romano's hair, taking care to avoid the hair curl. The bastard was pretty fucking sensitive to Romano's moods, he had to admit. That was – was actually good. He'd hate to have to fight off some wild sex attack with only one good arm.

And, dammit, having thought that, he started to get turned on, and couldn't stop himself. "Hey, if we go upstairs, will you – will you, ah –?" He raised his eyebrows and grinned at Spain.

The elder nation laughed and laughed, taking his good hand and raising him off the seat. "I'm glad to see your spirit's still intact, Lovi. _Sí._ Let's go upstairs and I'll make you feel very good, without hurting your arm at all."

…

He'd finally gotten rid of the tomato bastard. Yeah, lying around being serviced was nice for a little while, but he couldn't _do_ anything, and he and Spain never really talked and shit. It was actually kind of boring once the elder nation had finished, so Romano had sent him home with reassurances that Veneziano and the macho potato would look after him. They would, he knew, but they were still driving him nuts.

After a few hours of bickering, of insisting that nothing dire would happen to him alone in his brother's house, he'd convinced those two to go out on a damn date, just to get rid of them. Romano sat enjoying the quiet time in the clean, sweet-smelling kitchen, nursing a by-now cold espresso and still reliving The Incident, as he'd come to think of it. He didn't come to any new conclusions, though. He thought about the next meeting, upcoming in Canada, and wondered whether Russia might try anything shady there. If Romano couldn't fight back –

But he didn't want to consider that. So he tried to find something else to think about. He made a mental list of what he'd need to pack. That didn't take long. He always took the same old shit to these meetings.

Oh, right…he owed England a Euro, too, since Romano hadn't even finished the race. Of _course_ the bastard would win the bet on a technicality. Just Romano's luck. Maybe he could call it off?

Cheh. A Euro was just a fucking Euro. He'd pay the blond bastard and be done with it, or maybe double-or-nothing him on some stupid new bet. Whatever. Romano washed down his painkillers for the night and headed up to bed, hoping his _fratello_ and the potato bastard wouldn't pester him when they got home.

…

Life went on; Spain came over on the weekends and took care of his more pressing needs, and Romano suffered the attentions of his idiot brother during the middle of the week. He had a few doctor visits during that time, where they told him everything was going well, and the cast would be off in a few weeks. He pressured them to remove it before the Vancouver meeting – Romano absolutely did _not_ want to put up with a bunch of sympathy shit (or mockery, more likely) from all those nation bastards – but the doctor was adamant that the fracture would not be totally healed by that point. They anticipated removing the cast the week after the meeting. Didn't that just figure. Well, fuck it. He'd have to deal; didn't have a choice.

The night before the flight, he and Veneziano went back to his place so he could pack. Or rather, so that he could recline negligently on the big, soft bed, while bossing his little brother around. Romano snorted. This business wasn't a hundred percent bad. "Put the black boots in there," he directed haughtily, sipping wine.

"These boots are really shabby, ve, Romano. You need a new pair."

"Shut the fuck up." But his response was automatic and halfhearted. "Just put them in the damn suitcase."

"Ve, all right." Into the suitcase they went, along with all Romano's other requirements for a week-long meeting.

Soon the suitcase was packed, the wine glass empty. "Ve, let's go back to my place, Romano. I miss Germany already!" He propped up the little carryon and extended the handle. "I'll pull the suitcase, ve."

"Th-thanks, idiot. Let's go."

…

He looked around for England at the departure gate, hoping to close that loop, but the blond wasn't there. Maybe he'd gone over early or some shit, gotten a different flight? Well, whatever. He was bound to be at the stupid meeting. Romano tried to tune out his brother's babbling and waited for the boarding announcement. Veneziano and Germany had seats together in first class; Romano had to wait, and finally got to his lonely coach class seat.

All the way across the Atlantic and the North American mainland, he sat staring out the window, trying not to bump his cast against the teenaged bastard next to him, and feeling pretty fucking sorry for himself.


	11. Chapter 11

America was in an awesome mood. He loved meetings in Canada. Iggy had come over a day early and they'd played around, sightseeing in Vancouver by day and making sweet love at night. He'd even remembered to put on the silly friendship bracelet that England had bought him. Frankly, the hero was surprised he hadn't lost it yet. But it had made the island nation happy. _Very _happy. Mm, _yeah…_he got dressed while Iggy was in the shower, humming "America the Beautiful" to himself with a wide, delighted grin.

He and England both came down to the conference room early, in case Canada needed any help with anything. "It's all under control," his twin said quietly, so they all sat and chatted for a while as other nations began to trickle in. America wheeled his chair back and forth; it was squeaky, and he knew that annoyed both the others, so he kept grinning and shifting around. But neither of them took this bait.

When the servers had finished laying out the buffet on the long tables at the side of the room, England immediately leaped up. "Want anything?" he asked the other two.

"Not for me, dude. I've got my coffee." America raised his cup and grinned.

Canada added, "I'm fine, thank you."

America watched his boyfriend hurry to the hot water urn – it was kind of silly for him to hurry; nobody else but India and China drank a lot of tea, but Iggy always acted like it was the last tea on earth. Hah. Canada went to check on something, leaving the hero alone at the table.

Germany and Veneziano came in leading Romano with his arm in a cast. They headed to the back of the room. Oh, right! He'd better say something nice about that. "Hey, guys," he said easily, rising from the chair and crossing to the wounded Italian. "How's the arm?" Weird. No signatures on the cast. Maybe they didn't do that in Italy.

"Cheh, not too bad anymore, bastard. Cast comes off next week."

"That's cool. Wish I'd seen you lying there in the gutter; I would have heroically stopped to help. I guess it was after I ran past you?" But that was a lie. He _had_ seen Romano lying in the gutter. Hadn't realized the brunet had had a broken arm, but that was still no excuse. It had been obvious that something was wrong with the half-nation, that he'd fainted or something. America knew he should have stopped, but he'd been so intent on winning that race that heroism had been temporarily shelved. He just hoped Romano didn't remember who may or may not have passed him during the run. The hero kept glancing nervously around the room.

"Whatever, bastard. It's over with." Romano wasn't looking at him, but England was. Shit. As America watched, his expression went from confused to flatly neutral; he turned back to the tea urn.

Well, fuck it. People couldn't be heroic a hundred percent of the time. "Take care of yourself, yeah?" he asked, absently cuffing Romano on the shoulder.

"Ow! Dammit, you moron! That's my bad arm!"

"Wh-whoops. Sorry." Damn. Maybe he'd just better sit in his chair and shut up for a while. He hurried to do just that.

England came back with his tea and muffins, sitting next to him, and America grinned at him. Iggy smiled weakly back and began to sip his tea.

…

The island nation spent the morning carefully studying the faux wood grain of the conference table, minutely examining its swirls and considering the artistry required to create a simulated, non-repeated pattern on a plastic veneer. He also took some time to wonder whether Germany was doing his hair differently, or something. It looked fluffier.

His pen was running out of ink.

Canada shouldn't have a glass table right under the window; the sun struck it and nearly blinded him for half the morning. That was seriously distracting.

This tea was too weak; the breakfast muffins were dry.

He traced his fingers over the wood grain patterns over and over and over, and nothing at all sank into his head from this meeting, not a sodding thing. No one said anything to catch his attention. He felt as though his ears were stuffed with giant wads of cotton wool. Blast it all.

At lunchtime, he waited until America had left for the hotel restaurant. He'd made a lame excuse not to join him, and now went straight up to their room. England was very sad, and very angry, and he knew he was at a crisis point in his life. He flung himself face-down on the bed to think.

He'd known in his heart that America had deliberately ignored Romano. Had been in denial ever since he'd sat on the curb next to the fallen Italian. But England had not wanted to believe that his boyfriend could be so coldhearted to a fellow human being, let alone another nation. This was, he knew, why he had never let himself ask the hero, point blank, about what had happened that day. In the past few weeks since Romano's accident, mostly by repeating it over and over, the island nation had managed to talk himself into believing that America hadn't seen things properly. Bearing this out, America had been his usual upbeat self, not acting conflicted at all.

England hadn't mentioned anything to anyone about the accident. No one had asked him anything, and no one had said anything, and so he'd kept quiet about his part in it. This morning, though (the first time he'd seen Romano since then), his heart had felt bludgeoned. _Bludgeoned!_ It was bad enough that America had failed to help – and had lied about it to Romano (and it was obviously a lie; England knew better than anyone that shifty look the hero got when he was lying) – but then, Romano himself hadn't even come over to say "thank you"! What a bloody ingrate. Though it was possible the doctors hadn't told him about England's involvement. Still, the island nation was furious with himself and with both of them, and didn't trust himself to behave properly in company over lunch.

It was America's lie that really galled him, he realized. He could have forgiven him for not stopping to help someone. England might have lectured him about it, but eventually he would have forgiven the git. But to tell that lie to Romano's face – to the one who'd suffered the most that day, the one who was still suffering from it now – that was the unforgivable part. As if by telling the lie to Romano, that would make it true? England was in anguish. How many more lies had the younger nation told over the years? How many times had America lied to_ him_?

He knew he couldn't go on with America after this. Maybe someday he'd be able to forget, but it was too raw, too new, right now. The island nation took off the friendship bracelet and set it on the dresser, closing his eyes against the sight. There would be some bloody big fight tonight but it would have to be done. He'd need to find out if the hotel had a spare room available, too, or maybe he could share with someone who had a room to himself. Worst case, he supposed Canada might allow him to stay at his house for the rest of the week, or he'd go to another hotel. There was no way he could keep rooming with America after a breakup.

Twenty minutes later he had the logistics all worked out. He packed everything up and set the suitcase on his bed. Yes, England knew he was deep into avoidance, but his anger and pain were so great that he couldn't think about them now, or he'd break down entirely.

Lunch break was almost over. Now he had to go back to the blasted meeting and act normal. Bugger.

…

"Hey, let's go eat at that little place we like," America suggested later, waggling his eyebrows.

England's heart sank. All those little places – all around the globe – so full of memories –

But he forced himself to be strong. "I think we need to have a talk, America. Will you come up to the room with me?"

"Sure, dude, whatever. Don't take too long, though; I'm starving."

They rode the sleek elevator in silence. England was trying desperately to marshal his arguments, but the panic, the hatred of fighting, kept rising up to distract him. He didn't look at America while they rode; the hero tapped his feet, whistled along with the piped-in music, grinned at him, but England's mind was deep into the problem and he didn't even notice.

Once they'd gotten to the room America reached for him. "Man, this was a great idea," he laughed. "Dinner can wait."

This would be the hardest part, and England almost couldn't do it: pushing him away. But he did. "Stop. Please."

"What's the matter? You've been acting weird all day. Really out of it." America sat on the bed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"I – think we should spend some time apart." His voice was low and quivery. England bit his tongue, knowing that was a weak way to start; he was determined to break up, but he couldn't make himself blurt that right out.

But America said it for him. "You mean you want to break up with me? _You?_ Want to break up with me?" His jaw dropped unattractively. "Wow. You want to break up with me."

England snorted, somewhat relieved. "That's all you can say?"

"Well, no! Why? Why all of a sudden?" But then his eyes grew wide. "It's something to do with Romano, isn't it?" He smiled and flapped a hand before taking his bomber jacket off and throwing it onto the pillows. "Don't worry. It's all cool, you saw."

But now England was furious. "It is not 'all cool'! America, you ran past an injured person and didn't stop to help! You call that bloody heroism?" His hands clenched into fists as he stood in the center of the room, now trembling with anger, not fear. He could feel a rushing in his ears, a pressure behind his eyes, threatening to burst.

"Pfft. It wasn't a big deal. I was trying to win the race! He's a nation, right? He's not going to _die. _Anyway, obviously he's all right now, so what's the diff?"

The island nation couldn't believe his ears; he punched his thighs, since there was nothing else within reach to hit. "You're completely insane! The decent thing, the humane thing, would have been to stop and help. To make sure he was all right. But you, you selfish little git, you couldn't be bothered, could you?"

"Iggy, calm down. Why are you so worried about Romano? I didn't know you two were such good friends."

He could not believe America was so calm! He tried to match that arrogant, cool voice, the one America always managed to use during their fights, the one that made England so furious. "We're not. I barely know him. But I'm _appalled _that you, the so-called hero, didn't bother to stop. And then you lied to him about it today as well. I can't go on with you, America, not after this. It was selfish and cruel, and that lie this morning was just a feeble attempt to justify your crass behavior." England unclenched his fists deliberately and tried to catch his breath.

But now America was getting steamed. "Oh, like I suppose _you_ would have stopped, huh, old man?"

"I _did_ stop!" England exploded. "I stopped, I phoned an ambulance, and I went to the hospital with him!" His eyes were wide and staring; they hurt, so he let out all his breath and sat down on the other bed. He ached all over, as if he'd been beaten. "After I watched you run past," he choked out, shading his eyes with a hand.

America's eyes were wide, too. "Oh. Shit." He put a fist to his mouth. To give him credit, he seemed to realize he couldn't win this one, and, in a moment, changed his approach. "So that's it? You're throwing away more than a century of true love because of one little thing?" he asked, cockily.

"Was it true love?" the island nation blurted out, surprising even himself. "Was it really? Somehow I get the feeling you were never as invested in me as I was in you." He'd been in denial about that, too, he knew. All the gift-giving and attentive gestures had been his efforts to force America to pay more attention to him, and it had never really worked. The git was just too bloody self-centered. England sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. "It's over, America. I've got another hotel room lined up, and – and I need to be alone for a while."

"No kidding. Well, dude, don't come crawling back to me. Nobody breaks up with the hero and gets a second chance."

England gave him a very sarcastic look. "Yes, with a comment like that I can tell it was definitely 'true love,' eh?" He shook his head. "I won't be bothering you again, America. I hope you can live with yourself." He walked towards the door, but of course the wanker wouldn't let him have the last word.

"It – it was really good with you, Iggy. S-sorry it had to end this way."

"Yeah," England muttered, escaping out the door. "Me too."

…

_You may think it was uncharacteristic of America to skip the chance to play hero, but it seems to be a common American trait to "look the other way" or consider it "somebody else's problem" when there's a public problem like that. _

_Maybe they do sign casts in Italy, but you know the only people who would sign Romano's cast would be Veneziano and Spain, and he'd be too embarrassed to go around with the kind of cutesy/stupid things they'd draw. So I'm guessing they wanted to, but he wouldn't let them._


	12. Chapter 12

"_Danmark._ Can we go out tonight?" Norway whispered, near the end of the meeting.

The tall Viking nodded. Yeah, he could use a few beers. Canada was a great host, not too thrilling, but at least – when people could hear him – he got the message across, and work was being accomplished. Of course Germany sat near the front of the room to lend an authoritative hand when needed, but so far, other than scowling and a few raps on the table with his pen, he hadn't had to resort to anything drastic. "Beer?"

Norway shook his head _no_ and put a finger to his lips, requesting silence.

_No?_ Norge didn't want to go out drinking? Well, maybe he had some other interesting plan in mind. Denmark never studied Canada much – he was still mildly angry with the guy about Hans Island – but there had to be something lively around here, didn't there? Somewhere.

In just a few moments the host wrapped up for the day; the spacious, glass-walled conference room became crazy-loud with the sound of chattering attendees. Everyone jostled to leave the room, including Denmark; Norway took his time, and finally came out of the room with a small smile.

"Well? What did you mean?" Den demanded. They headed back to their room to put gear away.

"Wait." This was all his taciturn boyfriend said; the Viking, used to this, shrugged and waited.

Once in the room, laptops and notebooks stowed, Denmark sat on the bed and reached for the slighter nation. "So what is it you want to do tonight? Ice hockey? Shooting range?"

"Dancing."

"Dancing? Well, okay. Canada must have a couple good nightclubs around here." Denmark's bright blue eyes roved around as he tried to remember one, but he couldn't think of any.

"No."

"No what? Changed your mind already?" He pulled Norge closer and tweaked his nose.

"Ballroom dancing."

B-b-b-_ballroom dancing?_ Denmark felt his face getting hot, and his mouth hung open. "Joke, right? Hahaha."

"No! Not joking." Norway pouted. "I love to go dancing, and we never go."

Wow. That was the longest sentence he'd said all day. "W-well, I – I guess we can do it! I guess? I'm not very practiced at it, you know." But for Norge, he'd do it. They could go drinking tomorrow night to make up for it.

Norway beamed. "_Takk,_" he whispered, kissing Den on the nose.

…

_Ballroom dancing!_ He felt like an idiot, shuffling awkwardly around this ballroom, holding Norge (and yes, they were the only male couple in the room), trying not to stumble as his boyfriend led him through the steps. He felt stupid for not being able to lead – and he knew he _looked_ like a bumbling fool to everyone else in the room – and he was angry with Norge for demanding it, and hot and thirsty as well.

"I need a drink," he muttered, when the music ended. Norway took his hand, nodding, and they walked to the buffet table at the side of the room, which had tea, coffee, sparkling water and juice. "Damn it. Need a _real_ drink."

"Have some juice."

Juice. Hah. This was absolutely the last time he would do anything this lame. Den scratched his head. "How soon can we go?" He chugged the juice.

"Just a few more."

A few more…he managed not to groan aloud. Why couldn't Norway have wanted to play paintball or something? Something manly. Rock climbing! "Want to go rock climbing tomorrow night?"

Norway thought. "Maybe."

Cool. Well, with the promise of rock climbing, he could stick around and do some more of this dumb dancing. Denmark allowed Norway to lead him back to the dance floor, where he put his feet through the motions while trying to put his mind far, far away.

…

_My intent for this story is that once Romano and England have gotten together, it will become a sort of rambling soap opera touching on many of the nations. So I plan to periodically throw in a little non-Engmano chapter just to set that up. _


	13. Chapter 13

Shit, here it was Thursday night and Romano still hadn't paid England his fucking Euro. Maybe the blond had forgotten about their race bet, but Romano still wanted the closure. The bastard hadn't even glanced at him this week, and he wondered why. He looked around the conference room, but almost everyone was gone by now. "Anybody seen England?"

America gave him a suspicious look and fled the room. What the fuck? Something must be wrong with those two. England had been unusually quiet and inattentive all week. Romano might not have noticed this, but Austria, in the seat next to him, kept telling Switzerland (on his other side) how weird it was, and the Italian couldn't help but overhear.

"He said he was going for a walk," Canada offered quietly, gathering up paperwork at the front of the room.

"Thanks, bastard." Well, Romano might go for a walk, too. The chances of him running into England were pretty slim, but he had nothing better to do, and this way he wouldn't have to sit around and watch his brother and the potato bastard make nice with each other in the hotel restaurant. His head hurt a little. Maybe the fresh air would help, or maybe he could get some good espresso somewhere.

After dropping his things in the hotel room he awkwardly changed into casual gear, working slowly because of the cast. Checked his phone for battery life, checked his pocket for his wallet (and a damn Euro coin, just in case), headed out into the streets of the Gastown area.

As he walked, his thoughts darted around to various topics. Veneziano was undoubtedly an idiotic pain in the ass, but he'd also been really helpful. Romano had to admit that both he and Germany had been necessary to his own convalescence, and had been very thoughtful and helpful with all his shit. Probably Romano ought to do something nice for them, even if it was just _not being rude _for a while_._ Pfft. When he got the full use of his arm back, he'd do something, cook them a big fancy dinner or some shit. That would give him time to dream up some scheme that wasn't too stupid or embarrassing.

Russia hadn't acted suspicious at all. Hadn't paid a damn bit of attention to Romano, even though the cast was blinding white and obvious, even though many of the other nations had (surprisingly) come to wish him good health. But that in itself made Russia's behavior seem a little suspicious. Ah, whatever! Romano would just stay away from the bastard, and hope the bastard stayed away from him as well. It probably didn't even matter if Russia had done something. The Incident was over, and there was nothing that would change it.

Scanning the street for a café, Romano instead saw England, half a block ahead, striding into a shop. Looked like a shoe shop. Well, he could wait for him, pay off the bet, and find out why the bastard had been avoiding him. Maybe England thought he was weak or something, for breaking his arm? Romano couldn't guess. But the blond hadn't even made eye contact with him all week, not even accidentally. Even if he and America had some bad shit going on, that didn't explain why he'd be so antisocial. They'd gotten to be – well – not exactly friends, Romano admitted, but – but something. Something more than _not friends_.

Here he reached the shoe store and decided to hang around outside so he wouldn't interrupt the bastard's little shopping spree. He stood calmly, at first just eying the merchandise in the window. Some of these were pretty nice. Romano checked out a pair of sassy burgundy boots before shifting his glance down to his own (admittedly shabby) black ones. Maybe his _fratello_ was right. Maybe he needed new ones. He wondered if this brand was any good.

He peeked through the window, past the display, to see what England was up to. Wow. He had some badass boots on, too, different ones. Romano watched him saunter back and forth in the shop area, green eyes examining the reflection in the mirror.

While England spoke to the clerk, removing the boots and putting them back in their box, another employee came out with a shoe box. She opened it for the blond and he drew out a pair of – high heels? _Women's_ high heels? What the fuck? Romano was mesmerized. Here was England, flagrantly trying on women's shoes in the middle of Vancouver! As if he didn't even care who saw! He stood and watched the blond strut back and forth in these, too, before removing them and shaking his head _no._ They were beautiful shoes, but that was fucking _freaky._ Nobody would ever catch Romano wearing women's shoes. Never.

…

Inside the shop, the first clerk came over and spoke to England and the manager in a low voice. "There's a man outside. He's giving me the creeps; he's been standing there staring at us for a while."

England decided to be gallant and deal with the man for them, and then he recognized Romano. "Oh. I know him. He – he might be waiting for me." Bugger, the git was going to 'kill him' now, wasn't he? But he couldn't let the store clerks come to harm. "I'll go. Thanks for your help." He headed out the door.

"Did you want – " he heard behind him, but went outside without responding.

"You're freaking out the clerks," he barked to the Italian.

Romano ignored this. "Bastard, you – you were trying on women's shoes!" The amber eyes were wide in disbelief, and his face was bright red.

"Yeah? So what? Why shouldn't I try on shoes I like, git? It's nothing to do with you." God, he'd forgotten how childish Romano could be. Childish and uptight.

"But you – you – "

"It's none of your bloody business!" England shouted at him. It figured, the stupid little brat still hadn't thanked him. Why had he even expected thanks? Everybody knew Romano was a selfish tosser. Thought the world revolved around him.

Before the brunet could answer, the manager came outside and interrupted nervously, her eyes darting from one nation to the other. "Mr. Kirkland? The – the Granville store has the boots in your size. Would you like us to send them to your hotel?"

Blast, there was just too much going on right now. Too many inputs. England couldn't think straight. "No," he snapped. "Thanks." He ignored Romano's agitated stare and stormed off down the street, elbowing pedestrians aside rudely.

He heard feet pounding the pavement behind him. "England, wait! Wait! Please!"

_Please?_ That was worth stopping for. And Romano hadn't called him "bastard." He paused, waited without turning. "Yes?" he asked, once the half-nation had caught up.

"Y-your name is Kirkland?"

"Of course it is, wanker! Arthur Kirkland. What's that got to do with anything?" He scowled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Uh. I, uh. Um. You – the – the hospital – uh?" Romano rubbed his good hand over his face. "Shit."

The blond's jaw dropped. "You didn't know my name?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Romano shouted. "Don't you think I would have thanked you if I'd known it was you?"

The two of them stood facing each other like bantam roosters in a cockfight, fists clenched, faces angry, and then England realized how melodramatic they were being and let out a little laugh, relaxing a bit. "Okay. Fine. So now you know." He stepped back against the exterior wall of a concrete building, motioning Romano to follow, so they wouldn't be blocking the passersby.

Romano then softened as well. "Y-yeah. Now I know. Th-thank you," he said in a very heartfelt tone, taking England's hand as best he could with his injured arm and shaking it. "Thanks. I really am sorry. I had no idea that was you, and – and I'm glad it was you, and not some anonymous bastard." He dropped the hand and stepped back a little.

"So we're all right now? You're not going to kill me?" England was still a little hesitant.

"Kill you? What the fuck for? What did you do?"

"How the bloody hell would I know? The doctor said you were mumbling the whole time they had you in the ER, saying you were going to 'kill that bastard.'"

Romano's eyebrows drew down as he thought about this. "Sorry. No idea. Unless," and he shrugged, "I was talking about Russia."

"Why? What did he do?"

Romano glanced up and down the busy street. "Listen, I feel like an idiot standing out here talking about it. Do – do you want to go to the other store and buy those boots? They were pretty badass. And then I'll take you out for a drink, and we can talk about this. I owe you that, at least."

The island nation had been abstaining from alcohol all week, not wanting to descend into a liquor-fueled depression about America. Right now a drink sounded like a really awesome idea. England laughed a little. "Yeah, fine. Come on. We'll take a cab, and I'll go buy my badass boots, and then we can go drink and talk." He grinned and flagged down a cab, holding the door open for the injured nation.

"So you didn't finish the race either, then?" Romano asked in a funny tone of voice, once they'd been clipped into their seats and England had given the store's address.

"Obviously not, wanker." England snorted.

"Good. Then I don't have to give you a Euro."

The two of them looked at each other, Romano smugly and England in sheer amazement, and they began sputtering with laughter while the nervous cab driver sped onward.

…

Over drinks, each with a pair of new boots in a bag at his feet, Romano broached the topic of his accident again. "W-will you tell me what happened?"

"Didn't they tell you at the hospital?"

"Well, yeah, but only from the time the ambulance got there. They didn't know anything before that."

England explained how he'd come upon the fallen nation in the gutter (leaving out America's behavior), and what had happened after that, up to the point where the doctor had spoken to him. "I would have stayed at the hospital, but when she said you wanted to kill me, I figured it was time to go."

"So you're the one who told them where to find Veneziano?"

"Yes. Sorry. I should have been responsible enough to stay, even if I did think you were pissed off for some reason. But at least you were out of the woods."

"Whatever. Forget it. But thanks."

"Tell me what you meant about bloody Russia."

So Romano explained. "I have no proof, you know."

"Ah, he wouldn't do that. You must have misheard. Or," England considered, "maybe he just slipped and fell against you?"

"But then why the hell wouldn't he have stopped to make sure I was all right?"

England didn't want to think about something like that, so he swallowed the rest of his drink all at once. "Maybe it wasn't even him. You didn't see him, right?"

"No. I didn't." Romano drew circles on the damp plastic tabletop with his fingers.

"I'd say forget about it. You couldn't prove anything, and if you accused him and he hadn't done anything, you could be making a serious enemy. Just stay away from him."

Romano nodded. "Yeah. Hey, have another drink." He waved to the waitress, who brought them another round.

"I don't want to get drunk," England mumbled, a little maudlin already.

"Something wrong with the burger bastard?"

Bloody hell, Romano was nosy. "Yes. No! Er, well, yes, as a matter of fact, but I don't want to talk about it. Let's just drink and go back to the hotel. Unless you want to go do something else. I can get back on my own."

"Don't worry about it. We can head back together. I wasn't really planning to do anything tonight, anyway, just get out and clear my head."

"Fine with me." England ate some peanuts from the bowl on the table, and they spoke of inconsequential matters for the rest of the evening, before heading back to the hotel and bidding each other good night.

…

In the morning, in his new boots, Romano took a seat at the conference table. When England came in, he offered him a smile, and got a weak one in return. That was cool. M-maybe now they were friends?


	14. Chapter 14

_Thanks for all your reviews and comments. Everyone is so amused by England in heels! I guess there's been too much about "Kinky Boots" in the American media lately; I felt it was plausible._

…

"Yes, tomato brain. Friday, which is tomorrow." Romano cradled the house phone between his ear and shoulder, trying to support his tablet with one hand and reach for his espresso with the other, as he lay on his brother's long sofa in the afternoon light.

Spain's voice was excited. "_Sí_, then, do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I'm happy to take care of you."

"No, that's all right. Why don't you come over on Saturday instead? I'm going back to my place after the cast is off. After a good night's sleep tomorrow night I should be fine. We can have the whole damn day together." The Italian grinned, not even minding that his brother was clinging to the macho potato on the other sofa, probably eavesdropping.

"Okay! Lovi, that's a great idea. I'll come over early Saturday. You're sure you'll be all right?"

"Cheh. I'll be more than all right, idiot. Just make sure you get your ass over there on Saturday." He licked his lips, then in a panic checked on the other two, but they weren't looking at him.

"Got it, Lovi! Good luck tomorrow."

When he and Spain had finished speaking, Romano put the phone down and daydreamed for a minute. Thankfully, tomorrow the damn cast would come off, and he was really, _really_ looking forward to it. Was tired of looking like, and being treated like, some kind of fucking invalid. The fact that he'd get to play with Spain all day Saturday had absolutely nothing to do with it at all. Hah.

He then shielded his crotch from view with the tablet and rubbed himself in anticipation, but that was too freaky with the other two sitting right there, so he stopped. Instead, he raised the tablet and tried to read again. The business sector was improving slightly after an upswing in Italian fashion trends; the automotive industry was also booming. He was happy about this. Italy needed to pick up the pace.

The macho potato set down his coffee cup and picked up a newspaper, trying to shift Veneziano off him. "I see our next big meeting is in Romania," he said calmly.

"Ve, yes. I've been reading about his reforms. His GDP has been growing really really rapidly, ve! I'm happy for him."

Romano was on the verge of yelling at the two of them to shut up when the potato bastard spoke again. "There's talk of urban revitalization in Bucharest, too. That can only be good for him."

"Oh, I know, ve. It's exciting to see how all the other nations are working towards self-improvement. We should see if we can do anything to help him out. Ve, revitalization plans would definitely improve his tourism, which would just bring the GDP higher in the long run!"

Romano snorted (quietly, so he wouldn't interrupt their discussion). Frankly he was amazed that his _fratello_ was able to participate in such a relatively serious talk. He'd expect Veneziano to crow about Romania's pretty fountains, or something, not sit there and talk about GDP and urban revitalization. The elder Italian cut his eyes to his brother, who was sitting up behind the newspaper, sipping espresso while he talked to the potato head.

That was actually pretty impressive. Not that he'd ever tell the idiot, of course. But maybe this would help Veneziano take more of an interest in running Italy, take some of the burden off him. Veneziano really didn't do shit about it now, other than go to the world meetings. All the meetings in Italy, Romano was stuck attending on his own.

The other two kept talking, but he finally managed to tune them out. He couldn't get back into reading, though. Romano tried to imagine having this kind of talk with Spain, and almost burst out laughing. Spain didn't give a damn about any of this shit, and he wouldn't even know what to say. Probably thought GDP stood for "God damn pasta," or something. And Romano didn't like to waste his time with Spain on talking, anyway.

Might be productive to share that kind of talk, though. Once he was not so dependent on his brother, maybe he'd sit down and have a chat with him sometime. Work out ways to help Italy do better. It might turn out stupid, but at least it ought to be worth a try.

…

"Lovi, Lovi!" Spain, who had a key to Romano's house, unlocked the front door late Saturday morning and yelled. "Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, bastard," Romano called out, laughing as he wiped the expansive granite countertops clean. "Come on in."

Spain scooted in very quickly, beaming. He set a wine bottle on the counter, coming to hug the half-nation. "You're all right? The cast came off with no problems?"

"None at all." After a kiss, Romano waved his healthy arm as proof. "See? Totally back to normal." He pinched Spain's earlobe and laughed.

"Ouch! Do you have to be extra-careful or something? Or are you able to do everything you usually do?"

Of course Romano smirked. "Put the damn wine away, and I'll show you just what a great range of motion I have."

…

The sun had crossed the sky before Romano felt ready for a break; he'd felt he had to make up for all that lost time. He and Spain lay side by side on his big bed. The covers were soaked with sweat; he'd have to change them before bed tonight. But dammit, what an amazing day. It had almost been worth all the stupid arm hassles.

"Lovi?" the elder nation asked quietly. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"You can ask_,_ bastard. What is it?" Romano turned his head to look at his friend.

Spain was playing with himself. "Could you take care of me again? I'm so tired of having to do things myself, while you were injured." He smiled. "It was nice to fantasize about you, but it's much nicer to have you here with me."

"Cheh, of course it is." Romano moved to the other side of the bed, so he could use his healed right arm, and began eagerly touching his friend. "What do you fantasize about, when you do this by yourself?" He was genuinely curious. Whenever he himself felt the need to do it, he always thought about Spain, bent over and begging him for it. Best – fantasy – _ever. _He grinned.

"Oh, _sí_," Spain started, before answering the question, fidgeting a little on the mattress. "I, ah, I think about your mouth on me, Lovi, what that would be like, so warm and wet, like being with a woman…oh…" Spain stopped speaking, but kept fidgeting and letting out little moans; Romano's hand kept working.

Of course the bastard would fantasize about the unobtainable. Romano never gave blow jobs. His hand worked faster. "I love to watch you squirming, when I'm making you feel good," he purred, putting a little bit of a moan into his voice, letting his breath ghost past Spain's ear. "Love to think about how hard you get, being with me."

"Oh, _sí, _Lovi, please…" Their mouths met for a deep and passionate kiss. Romano savored the warmth of Spain's mouth and tongue, knowing how good the bastard must feel right now. They spoke no further, and in one more minute full of moans and heat, Spain did reach his peak, with a satisfied grunt.

Romano sat back with a smug grin. Good workout for the new arm, he thought, handing over the tissue box. Hadn't lost his touch. "Well, bastard? Was it as good as you hoped?"

Spain cleaned himself up with a lazy grin. "It's always so good with you, my little _tomatito._" He held out his arms and Romano shifted to lie snugly against him. "Let's have a little rest, all right?"

"Mm, all right," he murmured, pulling up a blanket. It had been too long since they'd been close this way. Romano was glad things were back to normal.

…

It wasn't until long after Spain had gone that he remembered the talk of "being with a woman." He wondered which woman, and when, but then decided it didn't really matter. Spain was his now.


	15. Chapter 15

England checked into his small Romanian hotel room dejectedly. He was rooming with China. The Asian cheerfully bustled about unpacking in the weak sunlight coming in through the high narrow window, which made his intricately-embroidered robes glow.

The blond had been doing very well, surviving without America, or so he'd managed to convince himself. He'd found a television broadcast that took place every afternoon at the time they'd formerly spoken on the phone. He watched it religiously now, even though it didn't interest him much. (And yes, he knew that by displacing his America time with a show, the show was still tethering him to his old relationship. He didn't give a damn.)

After a few weeks alone, England had tentatively begun to enjoy this new freedom. Oh, he wasn't out partying all the time, but he'd spent a few days boxing up relics of the relationship and storing them in the attics, leading to reclaimed space in his home. Or he worked on projects he'd always loved, like needlework, that he'd set aside because America had derided them. England went for long walks on the moors, visited museums, strode around London with his head held high. He wasn't over the hero, yet, but he knew he'd get there someday. Now he only got depressed when he saw something that he particularly associated with America.

Like China, for instance. Or any other nation.

He ground his teeth as he looked around the room, which was clean, but very old-fashioned, with an exposed radiator, thick brocade curtains, and a hardwood floor with a moth-eaten throw rug on it. What a miserable week this was going to be. He knew it already. At least it was only a three-day meeting.

His roommate smiled sweetly at him. "Here's some new tea for us-aru." He gestured towards an elegant porcelain teapot (China brought one to every meeting) and a bamboo box of loose tea.

"Thank you. I'm happy to try it."

"Not rooming with America, I see."

Bugger. "No. America and I are no longer together." England busied himself unpacking and feverishly praying that China would drop the subject. Then it turned out there wasn't enough room in the tiny dresser for his things, so he had to leave half of them in the suitcase. Bollocks.

"That's interesting news-aru. I'm going to the bar. Will you join me?"

"Maybe later. I need to get some work done." He unpacked his laptop and set it on the little night table, plugging it in to charge.

"Suit yourself; I'll see you later!" China flapped a long sleeve at him and left the room.

"Well, that went well," England muttered to himself. Blast. He did know that – maybe not _everyone,_ but certainly a lot of nations, would be gossiping about him and America during this week, the first time they'd all been together since the breakup. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone, let him get through the meeting and pay attention to the agenda, instead of dealing with whispered questions and muttered comments and other nosy rubbish.

He didn't really have any work to do. England played around on his computer for a while, and then got fidgety, peeking out at the town square, examining the hotel directory, checking out the tiny bathroom. Should he go down to the bar? He really couldn't hide in the hotel room all the time. That would be asinine.

Yeah. He could deal with a drink or ten.

…

The next morning he crawled up from the squalid depths of his hangover as China poked him with a grin. "Wake up, sleepyhead! It's Monday-aru! Meeting time!"

The island nation let out a little croak but otherwise didn't respond, didn't even move.

"Stop croaking and get up. We have a meeting!" China's pokes became more feverish. "Would you like some tea?"

"Please," he managed, his voice still sounding like a death rattle. He managed to roll over very gently, covering his face with a pillow. "Wh-what happened?"

"Ha ha! You got terrifically drunk, my old friend." The Asian nation moved to prepare the tea.

No kidding. England was afraid to ask, but – "Did I – did I do anything stupid?" Of course he had. He always did.

"Surprisingly, no. You drank so much so fast that you were only conscious for about an hour. Then you fell over in the booth. Denmark helped me bring you up to the room, and you've been out since then. It's been about thirteen hours-aru."

Thirteen hours of sleep? Wow. He'd be over this hangover in no time! England sat up with renewed optimism. "I – didn't do _anything_ stupid?" That was exceedingly hard to believe. He got out of bed and prepared for a hot shower.

"Singing, a little. You sang 'God Save the Queen' once or twice before you passed out, but nobody was really paying attention."

"Wow." England shook his head gently, testing for a headache, but he really didn't have one! "Bloody marvelous. I'm going to shower now."

"Did you want some of the tea?"

"Yes, please!"

…

Refreshed and happy about his lack of real hangover, England practically bounced into the meeting room in his uniform and his fine new boots. Unfortunately he nearly slammed into America, whose face fell. The hero turned away without a word; England's brain was jolted right back to reality, and he scowled, good mood evaporating on the instant.

The room was almost full, but he spotted an empty seat in the back of the room, between Greece and Hungary. He shoved his way back there and claimed it before going to the meager buffet for some breakfast.

When he sat down Hungary nudged him with her elbow. "Broke up with the hero, I hear?" She had a painfully happy smile on her face, for such a topic.

"Yes."

"Too bad."

England's only response was a grunt. He opened his laptop and began making fake notes in a document just so he could ignore her.

When Romania started the meeting, the island nation didn't even look up, just kept typing and listening to the talk. Thank God this wasn't a five-day meeting. He couldn't wait to get home to the safe haven of his townhouse, away from all these nosy and annoying wankers.

…

Hah. None of these bastards had even congratulated Romano on getting the fucking cast taken off. Too self-centered. He tried to pay attention to the meeting, but Romania was distracted and stammering, a lousy host. Seemed he couldn't string more than just a few sentences together without losing track of the topic. He was red and awkward and kept dropping pens and things. Many of the participating nations seemed embarrassed for him.

Romano almost hadn't come to this meeting. He was bored with meetings in general, and had hoped to shove the burden of this one onto his _fratello_. So he'd sat down with him one afternoon, ready to begin the talk he'd promised himself – trying to get Veneziano seriously interested in the business of running Italy. The talk had started out beautifully, luring Romano into a great mood, and then Veneziano had flapped his hand and said, "Ve, Romano, you sure are good at this stuff! Almost as good as Germany, ve. I'm going to go read my new manga from Japan now!" and had run out of the kitchen.

Dammit. Either the idiot had been playing up to the potato bastard that other day, trying to sound impressive, or he was being a lazy ass about it now. Either way, Romano didn't feel right, entrusting it all to Veneziano, and so here he was, listening to this terrible presentation. He looked over at his dumb brother and snorted.

Romania droned on. Romano's eyes swept around the long, shabby table, looking for other bored nations. America, right up near the front of the room, seemed fidgety. The brunet wondered why. Oh. Maybe something to do with England? Were they still having trouble? Must be, the blond bastard wasn't sitting with the stupid "hero." Romano checked all the other seats and finally saw England at the back of the room, concentrating fiercely on his laptop. He must be very intent on his work, if he could bother to take notes during this fiasco. The brunet watched him for a while, willing him to look up, but England remained focused on the laptop screen.

Ah, what the fuck; Romano would invite the bastard to lunch, since he apparently wasn't going to be spending time with America. He still felt he owed the blond for his help that day in Russia. Those few drinks that one night just didn't cut it, as a payback. Besides, he didn't know this city well enough to find a good lunch restaurant on his own! But England still hadn't taken his eyes off the screen, and Romano wondered how to get his attention without standing up and yelling at him.

Cheh. He had an idea, and slipped a Euro out of his pocket. Tearing a page from his notebook, he wrote, "Lunch?" Romano carefully folded the note around the coin and wrote "UK" on the outside – just in case some interfering bastard intercepted it on the way – and slid it down the long, polished mahogany table towards the blond. Everyone at that end of the table watched its progress; Romania, still nervously talking, was oblivious, though.

The coin slid all the way down and gently bonked the back of England's laptop. He peered over the screen to see what it was, but he left it there, shaking his head no with a twist of his lips into a sneer, as if he thought it was some kind of prank.

Romano was infuriated. _Open the damn note, stupid_, he kept chanting in his mind, but England was back to work on the computer and didn't pick up on his psychic message.

Fuck! Well, if the computer was his focus, Romano would use the computer. He pulled up the document containing the phone numbers and emails of all the nations, located England's info, and sent him a message saying "Open the damn note, bastard." He snorted again as he sent it.

His attention was entirely on England now, and as he watched, he saw the blond frown subtly. Then his head snapped up with the impressive eyebrows raised as high as they could go. Emerald eyes met amber; Romano smirked and pointed to the coin in its wrapper. _Oh,_ England mouthed, reaching around to grab the coin and open the note.

When he read it he smiled that little halfhearted smile that he often used, and nodded, stashing the coin and note in his pocket. That was good. Maybe Romano could find out about whatever shit was going on with America.

This little drama had taken up most of the morning, and almost as soon as England had finished stuffing the things into his pocket, Romania called for a lunch break.

The Italian watched all the relieved nations hurry out of the room; England took his time closing up his laptop. Maybe he didn't want to run into the burger bastard by accident? Romano waited for him by the doorway.

"Hi," the blond said with a smile. "How's the arm?"

"Fine, thanks. You know, you're the only damn bastard here who's said a single thing about it?" Together they left the room. "Know any good lunch places? I haven't been here before."

"Eh, usually I just get something from a street vendor. Come on, let's go walk. We're bound to find something."

"Okay. You might have to translate for me; I don't know this language."

"Fine with me, git. Anything else? Want your Euro back?" England retrieved it and extended it to him.

"Bastard, keep the damn Euro! I'm not a fucking charity case. Someday I'll need money, and you can pay me back all the Euros you've ever gotten from me."

"Right, well, I'll open a special piggy bank for them. A tomato bank?" England laughed a little as they headed outside.

The midday summer weather was quite nice, not too warm at all. Romano didn't mind walking around. "What's going on with you lately?" he wondered, not knowing how to bring up the topic of America.

"Eh, nothing, really. Doing a lot of housekeeping, a lot of the usual political bullshit. You?"

"Yeah, the same." Romano detailed his "get Veneziano involved" woes, making the blond laugh again. "The idiot's never really going to pick up on it, I'm afraid," he concluded.

"Is that so bad, though? At least if you're doing it, you're the one in control, and you know nothing will get buggered up behind your back."

"I hadn't thought of it that way. Maybe you're right." He sighed. "Still, it'd be nice to have him watching my back. Nice to let go and relax once in a while."

They found a vendor selling sausages in a bun, so they each bought one, with some bottled water. "Is there a park near here?" England asked the vendor, in passable Romanian.

"_Da, există."_ The man waved off to his left. "Down there, across street."

"Thank you." The two nations took their lunches and walked down the busy street together.

The park was small, with just a few benches and a little deserted play structure amongst carefully-pruned rowan trees. Romano smiled to see them. He had some growing in his yard at home, and they were one of his favorites.

He chose a bench under a particularly fine tree, and they sat down, unwrapping the steaming sausages from their foil wrappers, uncapping bottles of water. "Are you really all right, bastard?"

England sighed, staring at his lunch. "I guess. I know I will be, but right now it seems like that's a long way away."

But Romano wasn't even really sure what had happened. "You and America broke up?"

"Yes." England sighed again.

"Eat your damn lunch and stop sighing. You sound like a lovesick teenage girl."

"Pfft. Thanks a lot, git." But the blond lifted the sausage to his mouth and took a bite, chewing slowly.

Romano tried his, too. Well, it wasn't that bad. At least he could eat it. Not like damn _wurst._ "Something happen?" he continued prying. Yeah, he was curious as hell! "Or were you just bored with him? Seems like you're too damn mopey for it to have been boredom. He must have done something colossally stupid," he decided with a nod. "He broke up with you?"

England glared at him, the fearsome dark eyebrows drawing down in a scowl. "You're the nosiest wanker I ever met. Stop pestering me and eat."

Romano shrugged and ate some more. So did England.

"I broke it off," the blond eventually muttered, once he'd finished eating. "Tired of the selfishness, is what it boiled down to." He screwed up the foil into a ball and lobbed it into a nearby trash can before tipping his head back and drinking some of his water. "I kept pushing and pushing him, and he just never got it. You know? Well, you probably don't know. You probably have Spain wrapped around your little finger," he laughed.

"Cheh, well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do," Romano laughed too. "But I don't get it. Pushing him how?"

"You know. All the love gestures. The phone calls, cards, flowers, presents. But he never did them for me, so I guess it wasn't truly love."

This was surprising. Romano never did that kind of shit, nor did the tomato bastard, and as far as he knew, his brother and the macho potato didn't do it either. Not excessively, anyway. "Why did you do all that?" Maybe it was just because they couldn't see each other that often, since America lived so far away.

"Because I loved him!" England let all his breath out really quickly, sagging onto the bench. "That's the kind of thing you do when you're in love with someone," he added. "To show how much you care about them. So that they know."

Romano, though, was astounded at this. "Buying his love? Bastard, that can't be right."

England gave him the nasty look again. "Listen, git, I wasn't trying to _buy his love!_ It was just to demonstrate, to remind him that I was out there, thinking of him! Oh, bollocks," he muttered. "Look. I'm a - a romantic, okay? I like all that rubbish - the moonlit walks, the dancing, all that. I like to send gifts, and I think they're important for a relationship."

"That's...a lot of work," Romano considered.

"Oh, you lazy git. Let's just forget it. This is a stupid discussion."

"No, it isn't really stupid. I want to understand this. I never do that kind of shit. I don't know anybody who does." Romano tried to make his voice sound reasonable and encouraging. This was a whole new approach to dating, and obviously England took it very seriously. It seemed fucking idiotic, though. Why would you have to remind your lover of your existence?

"I believe that a mutual exchange of regard – whether it's gifts, or emails, phone calls, cards, whatever – these things are all indicative of the depths of affection between two people." Hah, now England was using a lecturing tone that made him sound like a dusty old professor.

Romano managed not to laugh at this. "I have to disagree," he began.

England interrupted. "Well, how the hell do you and the Spanish git show your affection?" He scowled again.

"Pfft. Sex." Romano smirked. Man, did he smirk. He and Spain didn't need flowers and emails and shit like that. They had the hottest sex life of any two beings on the whole planet.

He became aware that the blond hadn't spoken and turned to face him; England's expression was a picture of disbelief. "Th-that's it? Just sex?"

"Bastard, what else is there? When it all comes down to it, it's all about sex, right? Sex is love. And, as you say," he went on, unable to resist a little boasting, "I do have him right where I want him."

England snorted at that. "Bet that makes for some interesting anniversary dinners."

"We don't do that shit. Dates? No. I mean, we just get together and make sweet, sweet love." Romano's eyes glazed over as he thought about that. Dammit, it was only Monday. Maybe he could talk Spain into meeting him at his place when he got home on Wednesday night? Let's see, his train got in at –

"So – you, you what? When you're together you just fuck each other and that's it?"

"He doesn't get to fuck me, dumbass. I don't do that shit."

"You have _got_ to be joking. You never take your turn?"

"Cheh. Never. Never have, never will."

"Bloody hell. And you call that a relationship? How stupid."

"Right. Like buying someone's love isn't stupid."

"Shut it, you arse."

Romano shut it, but mostly because he was now sidetracked by the idea of making love to Spain.

After a while he forced himself out of the daydream and saw the blond frowning down at his feet in their badass boots, which still looked new. "Hey," he said, elbowing him. "I'm sorry, bastard. The – the discussion kind of got away from me. I was just trying to make you feel better, take your mind off America, and whatever shit you had going on with him."

England snorted and rolled his eyes. "Well, as a relationship counselor, you suck." Then his eyes shifted to Romano's feet. "Nice boots."

The Italian was relieved, though it was a blatant lie and he knew England was only doing it to change the subject. He'd been wearing those boots all the time, and they were already starting to look a bit worn. "Stupid bastard. Come on, we have to get back."

"Another afternoon of wild entertainment. Some days I wonder why I bother."

"Same reason I do, stupid." Romano threw the water bottles into the trash. "There's no one else to do it for us."

A nod, a halfhearted grin. "Yeah. Thanks for going to lunch with me, git."

"Anytime, bastard."

...

_Thanks to HimochiIsAwesome for finally giving me some pointers on the correct use of "-aru."_


	16. Chapter 16

_And now, a little EstiBul._

…

Bulgaria daydreamed as Romania presented his talk.

Normally, _normally_ Bulgaria was one of the most attentive nations at these meetings. He felt insignificant compared to all these big-name powerful nations, and felt that by focusing and doing what he needed to do, his country might be taken more seriously. He always took notes by hand and transcribed them onto his computer when he got home at the end of the week. This helped him retain things better.

Right now he was sitting near the front of the large but cramped room, watching his friend Romania, who was the meeting host. But today, this whole week in fact, Romania had been completely distracted, because he had a crush on America. So Bulgaria sat and watched his friend stammering and losing focus, and he didn't take many notes.

Bulgaria wasn't really paying attention anyway. He knew he could get notes from Romania later. Instead he was trying not to obviously stare at his own crush, the beautiful and intelligent Estonia. Estonia wasn't a power player either, and that made it easier for Bulgaria to indulge in his private little daydreams. He'd been trying for weeks to find a way to approach the blond, but hadn't come up with anything beyond a crude "Hey, do you want to go to dinner?" Which was much too coarse, so he'd never asked. Of course he'd invented little playful fantasy scenarios, but they never seemed appropriate for real life.

He sighed, made a few notes, and returned to staring at Estonia out of the corner of his eye.

…

That evening he and Romania headed out for a meal. "I can't stand it," the blond groaned. "He's so damn hot, and now he and England have broken up? It's like a dream come true."

"Don't jump into a rebound," Bulgaria retorted. "Forget him for now. Help me figure out what to do about Estonia."

And as soon as he'd finished that sentence, they rounded a corner and saw Estonia himself, standing in front of a restaurant, all alone and reading the posted menu.

"Go for it!" Romania gave him a little shove and melted into a nearby alleyway.

Bulgaria took a deep breath. His friend was right. This was a perfect opportunity – unless someone else sneaked up and went to dinner with the Baltic nation.

He stepped closer. "Good evening, Estonia." Just saying his name gave him a little chill, and when the blond turned to face him, eyes wide, blushing, Bulgaria smiled a little nervously. "Are you meeting someone for dinner?"

"N-no. I thought this might be a nice place, but it seems a little too – ah – not a place where one should dine alone."

It was a very nice restaurant, a rather intimate little one. Was that an invitation? Bulgaria decided to treat it as one. When else would he get a chance like this? "Would you dine with me? I h-have no plans." He could feel his heart beating forcefully in his chest as he waited for Estonia's answer.

The blond's lips parted a little, and his eyes widened again. "Y-yes," he breathed. "Th-thank you for asking."

Bulgaria beamed and opened the restaurant door. He just hoped he wouldn't make any horrific social gaffes. If he could make it through the dinner, he could go forward, ask Estonia for a real date. Maybe they could even kiss goodnight! This was such an exciting thought that he nearly tripped over the hostess as she seated them at a remote corner table. A single candle burned in a glass votive holder; two white roses stood in a vase on the table.

"This is a very exotic menu," Estonia realized, once they'd had a chance to look at it. "I don't know much about Romanian food. I've never even heard of some of these dishes."

"Yes, some of them are unusual. But I recognize a lot of them. I can help you, if you don't know what to order." He wanted to make this a very flirty and intimate meal, and was going to try out one of his fantasy scenarios. He hoped he could pull it off without sounding like a goof.

"D-do you know what this is?" Estonia pointed to the menu item _börek_.

This was a dish from his home! Encouraged, the brunet shifted his chair closer to the Baltic nation's, consciously choosing to make his voice a little deeper and more intimate. "Yes, it is actually Bulgarian…and it means…" – he took a deep breath – "_I have always liked you._" His face began burning, but he kept his eyes on his companion, breathing deeply and trying not to show it.

"What?" Estonia apparently hadn't heard him. Bulgaria bit his lip, wondering whether he had the balls to repeat it, and then it must have processed for the blond. "Oh!"

He wasn't smiling, but then, Bulgaria would be a little nervous, too, if someone had just dropped that on him. He tried to think of something to calm Estonia down. "There is a good Romanian dish here. It is called _rasol_." He reached over to point to it on his companion's menu.

"Wh-what does that mean?" Estonia had begun to smile shyly, just a tiny bit, his beautiful eyes behind their glasses locked on Bulgaria's.

The brunet was beginning to feel very confident. He'd taken a risk and Estonia wasn't laughing at him or running away! "That is a very special dish. It means…_You are very beautiful._" He took another deep breath.

"In that case I…would have expected _rasol_" – here the blond looked at him for confirmation that he was pronouncing it properly, and Bulgaria nodded – "to be a Bulgarian dish as well." Even in the candlelight his blush was visible, and he smiled. The Balkan's eyes widened. Estonia was going to play the game!

Before he could think of another romantic line, Estonia reached a hand out and lightly touched Bulgaria's, where it rested on the table in its black glove, before drawing back. "In Estonia w-we have a drink called _kali_."

"Wh-what is _kali_?" Bulgaria wondered breathlessly.

"It translates as…_I am excited to be here with you._" Estonia still seemed nervous; his eyes flickered in the candlelight.

Before either could speak further, the waitress came and took their orders. Both of them laughed as they ordered plain steak with baked potato and vegetables, instead of one of the more exotic dishes. "Would you like wine?" she asked them.

"None for me," Bulgaria decided. He wanted his head to be completely clear and on the ball, tonight!

Estonia smiled. "Me neither. Thank you, coffee will be fine."

The waitress took the menus and left them alone. "I would like some _kali_," Bulgaria ventured, hoping they hadn't lost the mood. He picked up a fork and fiddled with it, waiting to see what Estonia would say or do.

The blond seemed much bolder now. "Oh, there is plenty of _kali_ for you. Or you could have some _kama._"

"Wh-what is that?" Bulgaria reached out a hand, and Estonia took it.

"_Kama_ is…_you are a sexy man._"

Bulgaria's grin was making him look like an idiot, he knew, but he was on top of the world. "Then you should have plenty of _kama,_ too." He squeezed the Baltic nation's hand and shifted his chair a little closer, tucked away at their corner table.

The meal came; the two ate, now speaking more prosaically of their homelands, their diverse (actual) cuisine, and the meeting so far. When the bill came, Bulgaria paid it. Then he took the two white roses from their vase and handed one to his new friend, putting the other into the buttonhole of his jacket. Estonia, surprised, did the same.

They exited the restaurant together and faced each other in the light from the street lamps. "D-did you mean all that?" Estonia asked, somewhat seriously.

They were almost the same height. Perfect for kissing – ah – "Yes. But if it disturbs you –? "

The blond's voice grew even softer. "Not at all, Bulgaria. I think we could happily share some – some _Romantika ja sõprust._" He reached for the black-gloved hand.

"What does that mean?" Bulgaria had a suspicion that it was not an Estonian food. He smiled and stepped closer.

"R-romance and friendship," Estonia whispered to him, taking his other hand.

Deepening his voice again, the brunet murmured, "I would like that so much. It sounds…_ absolyutno perfektno__._"

Estonia raised his eyebrows. "And that means…?"

"Absolutely perfect," Bulgaria replied, leaning forward and kissing him sweetly on the mouth.

…

_Once again I must rely on Microsoft translator and the transliteration site._


	17. Chapter 17

"Let's go outside, Lovi," Spain suggested, grabbing a blanket and pushing Romano away from him. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it, considering it's October already?" He peered out the window.

Romano shrugged and checked the weather as well. The lawn was carpeted with a colorful splash of fallen leaves that he needed to rake up soon; the sun, bold and bright, made the sight sparkle. Yeah. It was a good day to be outside, and Romano was always willing to play wherever Spain wanted to. Last night they'd done it in the kitchen! "Sure, whatever you like, idiot. Come on." Together the two naked men walked boldly out into the very private back yard and spread out the blanket.

"I love these lazy days," Spain sighed, stretching out on his back.

"Just don't be lazy with me, tomato brain."

…

Enjoying the afterglow, Spain caressed Romano's cheek softly, drawing him near for a kiss. "Your skin is so soft, Lovi, just like a beautiful woman."

"This is the second time you've mentioned women recently, bastard," Romano answered him drowsily, snuggling close. "When were you ever with a woman?"

Spain shrugged. "Belgium, you know, and Monaco once or twice, a long time ago. Back when you were still a child. It's a very different kind of experience, _sí?_" He lay back and stared up at the sky, yawning.

"Mm. I guess so." Romano lay calmly thinking about this. He knew Spain and France had been lovers once upon a time, too. The tomato brain had a lot of sexual experience, probably a lot more than Romano actually knew about.

He, by contrast, had none at all, except with Spain himself. He peeked at the bastard, who was already half asleep in the afternoon sun, and wondered whether Spain ever found his lovemaking to be inadequate.

Cheh. Not _inadequate_ in that sense. Romano never failed to make the bastard whimper and beg for it. Mm, yes. But maybe Spain's expertise came from all the nations he'd been with before. Maybe Romano was a – a _boring lover?_

No, Spain would have said something. Wouldn't he? Maybe he was too nice to say anything, trying to spare Romano's feelings. That'd be something he'd do. So maybe Romano should start branching out. Get different kinds of experience with other nations. Then he could come home to Spain and surprise him with new and sexy tricks!

This was kind of a scary notion, having to finesse his relations with some other nation to the point where they'd go to bed with him.

But he could do it! He was Italy Romano, a great lover. He'd think of it as a challenge. At the next meeting, he'd see if there was anyone he would like to sleep with, and try to seduce him. Maybe he'd even go after a girl! Ukraine, or Liechtenstein?

N-no. Not Liechtenstein. Didn't want Switzerland coming after him with a fucking gun.

With this project falling into place in his mind, Romano cuddled closer to his lover, and smiled as he fell asleep.

…

When he started packing his suitcase for the next meeting Romano was intensely excited, though he tried hard to keep a lid on it. He was alone, packing first his clothing and essentials, but he burst into a big grin when he packed the things he'd need for sex with a stranger…This was so exciting! He wondered who his roommate would be. It'd probably be easiest to start there. That way he wouldn't be busting into any relationships by accident, and they wouldn't have to go looking for some secret place to get together. Yeah.

…

_Yes, this is ridiculously short, but you know I'll update soon._


	18. Chapter 18

_See, I told you it would be a quick update._

…

The meeting was about to start; England tried to focus on China, who was the host this time. He hadn't heard a single nosy comment from anyone about America, and in fact his ex was calmly seated near the front of the room, seemingly paying attention.

The island nation felt that he was making great progress. At least he didn't cry anymore, or drink to excess (well – not because of America, anyway), or burn some of the mementoes of their relationship. He was getting on with his life, and three months later, America was not a painful factor in it any longer. Even when his roommate, Cameroon, had made some comment about the hero this morning, it hadn't really registered. England was proud and alert and – and almost cheerful, today.

China began the presentation. Seconds later the door clattered open and an irritable Romano stumbled in. "S-sorry, bastard. Sorry I'm late." He closed the conference room door gently and scanned the room for a seat. Catching his eye, England raised an eyebrow in greeting and got a smirk in response, and then Romano headed to one of the three empty seats way in the back of the room.

…

At lunchtime Romano pushed against the flow of departing nations until he reached England. "Hey." He plopped down in the seat next to him.

"How have you been, git? How's the arm?"

"Cheh, the arm is perfectly perfect, nothing to worry about." He flexed it in the air.

"You look exhausted, though. Trouble sleeping?" Maybe that was why he'd been late to the meeting.

"Hah. Well, yes, dammit. H-Hong Kong was beating off all night in the other bed, and it kept me awake." He turned red, but smirked at the blond.

England laughed a little too. Hong Kong was a bit dodgy that way, he remembered.

"Come on, go to lunch with me, bastard," Romano begged, standing up.

"Ah, I really can't. I have so much work to do; I need to work through the bloody break. How about dinner, though?"

"Nah, can't; I've – I've got a date."

A _date? _Spain was here? Then why was he rooming with Hong Kong? Or – or did this mean the two of them had broken up, and Romano was on the prowl? England didn't feel comfortable asking about that, so he took the other tack. "You're kidding. With whom?"

Keeping his eyes on the floor, Romano fiddled with his jacket buttons before answering. "Hong Kong," he finally said, fighting another smirk.

_Eh? _

…

This exchange opened up so many questions that England, who really did have work to get done, couldn't focus on it at all. Had he broken up with Spain, after so long? If so, why? Why was he so bloody cheerful about it? And – _Hong Kong_? He'd never even seen the two of them speaking to each other. Yes, he knew Romano was rather focused on sex (perhaps obsessively so), but surely he wouldn't go after the Asian simply for a quick fuck?

The meeting and the lunch hour were nearly over by the time England realized he hadn't done a lick of work. He put his mind to it, but a little part of him was still buzzing around this topic. He determined to observe as closely as he could for the rest of the meeting today. This was downright bizarre.

…

Yet he didn't talk to Romano much until Wednesday; the brunet never seemed to stick around during breaks. At the midday break he approached England. "Sick of hotel food. Take me out somewhere."

"Autocratic git. Why should I?"

"Because you'll get some high-class conversation for a change?" Romano grinned and poked him. "Just come on. Please? I need to get out of the damn hotel."

England shrugged. "Please" always helped, especially from Romano. He might as well go; lunch with Australia had been nothing but arguments yesterday. "You're buying."

"Fine! Fine, I'm buying. Just come on."

The two of them left the hotel. "And?" England asked.

"And what? Pick out a good place to eat, will you, bastard? I don't know my way around here."

"That's all I am to you, a bloody tour guide, isn't it?"

"Oh, shut up. Just find a place."

The blond wasn't about to ask about this Hong Kong business, or Spain business, or whatever it really was. Romano might be a nosy wanker, but England was a gentleman and didn't push himself where he'd not been invited. If Romano needed to talk about it, of course he'd discreetly try to worm the story out of him, but if not, his lips were sealed.

As they walked, Romano chattered about this and that, the meeting, other nations, but no word of this date rubbish, or why he hadn't asked England to lunch the previous day. So the island nation kept to the tone of the discussion, light and frivolous.

"Hey, thanks for coming out with me," Romano finally said.

"No problem. Might as well; I can't get high-class conversation anywhere else."

"Sarcastic bastard."

"Here; we can get some lunch from this stall." England gestured to a market stall.

"You're such a cheapo! Why don't we ever go to real restaurants?" Romano pointed to this and that while the vendor boxed them up for him. "Always this same old street vendor shit."

"Because you're paying! I was just trying to save your coach-class-loving wallet from strain."

"Oh. Okay. Next time, you pay and we'll go somewhere nice."

"Hah." England picked up his box of lunch; Romano paid, and they wandered off. "Park bench?" the blond asked.

"Sure. It's _cheap._" Romano whacked him in the arm.

"Wanker. There's a park right down here."

They found a suitable park bench under a rowan tree. "Now, don't talk, bastard. I'm hungry."

"You're a git. Why can't I talk if I want to?"

Romano considered this, head tilted to the side. "Well, okay. Talk if you want, but don't expect me to answer."

"So much for bloody 'high-class conversation.'"

"Shut up and eat!"

They shut up. They ate. And after some lunch, and some high-class, lighthearted conversation, they went straight back to work, England no closer to enlightenment than before.

…

Friday morning Romano stormed into the conference room and slammed his notebook down on the table next to England. "You're coming to lunch with me today, bastard." He plopped into the chair and scowled.

"No, I'm not." England stayed calm. He'd thought this might happen.

"Chigi! What the hell do you mean?"

"I've got plans. I don't just sit around pining for you to ask me to lunch! Git."

"You're a stupid ass. You're supposed to hang out with your friends, you know?"

"Yes. I do know. Which makes me wonder who my friends really are!"

They stared at each other in anger. Then there was a commotion at the door which broke concentration for both of them. "Shit."

"Never mind. Listen, somebody else needs to talk to me, that's all. It's not a bloody big deal."

"Fine. I guess I have no choice, this time. Have fun with your fucking plans, and maybe at the next meeting we can have lunch."

"Fine."

Yet the surly Romano made no move to switch seats, and by the time China got the final day of meetings under way, the two of them were still side by side, relaxed and grinning at each other.

…

Romano was, in fact, intensely curious. Who was England going to lunch with? Not America, he hoped. He – he couldn't really say _why_ he hoped that, except that it was sort of backsliding. He still didn't know why they'd broken up – whenever he pressured England to tell him more about it, the blond clammed up – but as an outside observer he felt they were a mismatched couple.

But no, America was going out the door with Russia. Good. Let the bastards have each other.

England got up and stretched, and then – in a very obvious way trying not to check on Romano – wandered over to Hong Kong. They left the room immediately.

That goddamn _bastard_! He was trying to poach Romano's new sex partner away! What a fucking bastard_._ Romano punched the table, but there was no one else left in the room so he wasn't too embarrassed. He was fuming. How dare that backstabbing fucker do something like that! Friends, what a bunch of bullshit. Oh, no. They weren't friends. Friends wouldn't do that. _Chigi!_ That dumb blond bastard was going to get an earful of shit about this when he came back to the conference room.

He took some deep breaths and tried to force himself to calm down. Well…he wasn't looking for a long-term relationship with Hong Kong. So that part of it wasn't bad. And he and the Asian had had a fight last night, so Romano had kind of given up on him anyway. Really, the only thing pissing him off was that England had rejected his lunch plans in order to go screw Hong Kong!

Romano got up from the table and made to leave when he caught a movement outside the window. The hotel was shaped like the letter C, and the conference room was in one of the arms. From where he stood, he could see the wide front staircase leading from the street to the main lobby, and he watched England and Hong Kong walking out of the building together.

That was a surprise. He'd expected them to go fuck. Maybe they really were just going to lunch.

He stood at the window and watched them move to the side of the stairway before sitting down. Huh? They were just going to sit and talk? Not even _eat? _ And England had blown him off for that. What an asshole.

But he wanted to see what happened. Romano quickly filled a plate from the stale buffet and hurried back to the window. He was able to pull a chair over and set his plate on a beautifully-lacquered red credenza inlaid with pearl. Dinner theatre, he thought, snorting, and began to munch absently on the various Chinese delicacies while he spied on the silent and boring little display. They sat, they apparently talked (he couldn't see Hong Kong well from this angle).

Romano wondered why the hell the two of them would suddenly be talking to each other, if not for sex. He sighed. He and the Asian had had a great week so far: a lot of fooling around with no strings attached. He was a pretty good little lover, Romano had to admit. And then last night – what a dumbass. Hong Kong had wanted to top! How stupid. So they'd had a fight, and hadn't gotten to play. Two strikes against the little bastard.

Dammit, the whole world was full of stupid shitheads. He crumpled up his paper plate and threw it in the garbage can, but didn't leave his seat yet.

He saw Hong Kong stand up, embrace the blond, and wander down the street alone. Romano kept watching England, but he didn't get off the steps right away, just sat there staring into space.

Cheh, well, whatever. It wasn't like Romano had been looking for a new life partner. He _had_ learned some fun new things from Hong Kong, and he was grateful, because when he got home, he was going to screw Spain's brains out, and then they'd laugh together and start experimenting with the new techniques. Yeah.

By the time the meeting reconvened he was so mellow from these fantasies that he barely remembered to say hello to England when he came back in. Didn't even notice how distant the blond was being. China started droning on again, and he tuned out, dreaming about Spain's ass.

About an hour later he realized England wasn't paying attention to the meeting either. _You okay?_ he wrote on his note pad, shoving it in front of the bastard.

England nodded with a little frown, as if to say _Why wouldn't I be?_

Romano shrugged and went back to his dreaming.

…

"This is the end of the meeting-aru. See you soon!" China flapped a long sleeve and began to clear away the meeting things; England awoke from his reverie.

"Bugger," he muttered. "Shouldn't have left my packing until the end of the day."

"Idiot. I packed this morning. Flight leaves soon."

"Good for you, git." The island nation got up and stretched. "Well, I have a later flight. See you around."

Romano scooped up his things and headed out the door. "Yeah. See you next time."


	19. Chapter 19

"Mm. So vigorous today, Lovi!" Spain ruffled his hair somewhat lazily, trying not to yawn.

"Was – was it different? Better?" Romano held his breath. He hoped his hard work had paid off.

But – "Not particularly, _mi tomatito._ How could it possibly get any better?" He rolled onto his side and put an arm over Romano's chest.

"Dammit." The half-nation pulled the covers up over them and explained. "I got some pointers from Hong Kong at the last meeting. Wanted to surprise you with Asian sex techniques."

Spain blinked. "You got p-_pointers?_ What did he do, little Lovi? Draw you some diagrams? Give a presentation?" He laughed and laughed, falling back onto the mattress.

Romano waited patiently until this bout was over. "No, you moron. He demonstrated! How the hell else would I learn new things?" What a brainless idiot Spain was. He lay on his back and folded his arms over his chest.

But the elder nation froze in the act of smoothing out the blanket. "Y-you slept with Hong Kong?"

Romano grinned. "Sure, it was easy. A lot easier than I'd expected, anyway. He was my roommate, and he was really eager to play. He taught me that trick I showed you, where I – "

"Lovi, you – you _cheated on me?_"

"What? No! No, I wasn't cheating. I was just trying to learn new shit!" What the fuck was the bastard talking about? "Not looking for a new boyfriend or any of that crap."

Spain actually scooted away from him and pulled the covers right up to his chin. "You did cheat! How could you even think of such a thing?" he wailed. "How could you come home and _brag_ about it?"

"Listen, dumbass, it's not cheating! I was trying to get more experience, because you were always talking about your former lovers. I felt like maybe I was too boring, or something." He fiddled with the binding on the blanket.

"B-b-b-but all those lovers of mine were from before you and I got together, Lovi." This time his voice was a whimper. "I've never looked at anyone since we got together. Nobody! Not even when _Francia_ calls me to play," he sighed, sounding almost wistful.

"What? The fucking pervert –" No, wait. Romano couldn't get sidetracked. "You idiot. You really think I could cheat on you?"

"You just admitted that you did! Oh, Lovi…" Spain was usually a snoozy bastard after lovemaking, but today he leaped out of the bed with alacrity. "I – I have to go," he moaned, scrambling into his clothing.

"What? Wait!" Romano stretched out a pleading hand.

But Spain was already out the bedroom door.

Cheh. Stupid bastard. He'd be back. Romano fell back on the pillow, cursing, and went to sleep.

…

Three weeks later he was finally beginning to concede that maybe Spain had been serious. He hadn't seen or heard from him since he'd stormed out of the bedroom that day. Still, he knew the bastard would come back, eventually.

It was early December now, and Romano expected a romantic reconciliation so they could be together at Christmas. It would be fucking unheard of for Spain to neglect him over the holidays, and if he tried it, Romano would make his life hell for a good long time. So he went on with his life, doing nation work, keeping house, visiting his _fratello_ (and, by association, the stupid macho potato), and waited for Spain's phone call.

He got it. In the second week of the month, Spain rang him up. "May I come see you today, Romano?" he asked politely.

He got a little chill down his spine, though he'd never admit it. Spain hadn't called him "Romano" since he'd been a child. "Sure, bastard," he snapped back, trying to sound bold and nonchalant. "I'm here all day. Bring some wine, will you? Something you like."

"I'll be over soon." Spain disconnected.

Romano, after three weeks of abstention, began to fantasize about their afternoon. Maybe he'd keep him here all night? Mm, yes. He wouldn't refer to Hong Kong again, that he knew. Yeah, it would all be fine. He changed the sheets and put the bastard's favorite blanket on the bed, a bright one woven to mimic the colors of the Alhambra.

When Spain showed up they went into the kitchen and Romano poured coffee. Spain had no wine with him. "I'm not here for fun, Lovi," he said sadly, ignoring his drink. "I think we need to talk."

Dammit. He hated stupid reconciliation shit. "Come on, let's get it over with and go to bed." He tried to kiss the elder nation but Spain backed away.

"Romano, you don't understand. I sometimes wonder whether you've ever understood. All you seem to want is sex, sex, sex!"

"Well? What the hell else is there?" Dammit, the bastard sounded just like England.

Spain shook his head. "If you don't know by now, you never will. I'm b-breaking up with you, Romano. I think we both need the time apart, and you need to learn to be a little less selfish."

"_Me_ selfish? I'm not the one demanding monogamy!" he snarled in return.

But this failed to goad Spain, and that in itself was more annoying than anything else. "I'm serious. Please don't call me. I'm going to spend some time alone for a while." Spain made as if to leave.

"You can't leave just yet, stupid. We haven't –" Then the reality of the situation broke through, and he realized just what was happening here. Well, he'd be _damned_ if he'd crawl to the bastard! "Go," he said instead of finishing his sentence. "Get the fuck out. And don't call me, either. No matter _how_ damn desperate you get!" He threw his coffee mug across the kitchen, where it shattered against the wall.

Spain fled, one last "Goodbye, Lovi" floating back to the kitchen as the front door slammed.

"Dammit!" Romano broke every single porcelain mug in the house, he was so fucking mad.

When there were no more mugs, he took a deep breath, swept up the mess, and placed an online order for a dozen more. Then he opened a bottle of grappa and began to drink.

He awoke at some point in the night and stumbled up to his bed, collapsing with a few muttered Italian curses, not really remembering what he was so mad about.

In the morning he remembered. Well, the hell with Spain. Romano took a hot shower to deal with his hangover and then went back to bed. Fuck it all. Relationships sucked. Right then and there he decided not to bother with them anymore.

What he _was_ going to do, though, was fuck every damn nation he could get his hands on. Every single one.

…

_Hah, well, I'm glad that part's finally over with!_

_Thanks to all the readers and reviewers._


	20. Chapter 20

Christmas approached.

This would be England's first recent Christmas without America. When he thought about the hero, he didn't feel so bad anymore; that wasn't really the problem. In fact he'd noticed that he hadn't even thought about him lately, except at meetings, when he was forced to listen to him. The island nation sat and listened to America's ramblings and wondered how he could ever have found that entertaining or cute. The same way an uncontrollable puppy was, he supposed with a grimace. Fun to watch, but you wouldn't want to take it home with you.

In any case, he was entirely free this season. Financially he was doing quite well, because he hadn't had to send gifts to America, and mentally he felt he was doing as well as could be expected. But Christmas all alone would be rather sad. He went through a mental checklist to see which nations might be free to spend time with.

He could call Prussia, maybe. He knew Prussia and Canada had finally broken things off a while back, and he hadn't seen the albino with anybody else since then. Maybe they could even get Denmark to hang out with them for a while; surely he could ditch Norway for one night. Oh, not on Christmas Day. But some drinking on Boxing Day ought to be possible. Yeah. He made a note to call them later. Christmas alone wouldn't be so bad, if he had that to look forward to.

…

"Hello, my awesome friend!" Prussia picked him up and spun him around. "How have you been?"

"Eh," England laughed, "doing well. Finally have some down time."

"Denmark's getting us some drinks. Come in and sit." They moved inside the bar and sat. It was a little one in Copenhagen, where the three of them always met. It was quiet, and kind of shabby, but the owner didn't mind them trashing the place, because they were always repentant afterwards and paid for any repairs that were needed.

England glanced around, feeling happy; he waved at the familiar barman. This had been a smart decision. He loved his friends. "Hey, Den." The axe was nowhere in sight, which pleased him. He was in far too good of a mood now to bother with bar fights.

Denmark set down a tray with some beer bottles on it. "Hey yourself! Have a good Christmas?" He scooted into the seat.

"Not bad. Kept myself busy."

"Things okay?"

But none of them liked to talk about their love lives when they were out drinking. That was one of their taboo topics, the other being their so-called "brothers." "Yeah," England answered, swigging some beer. "Norway okay?"

"Yeah."

And that was that.

…

"Oh, man…" Much later, Denmark laid his head on the table and started drawing hearts with his fingertip in the condensation from his latest beer bottle.

"Wh-wha's the matter?" Prussia hiccupped.

"N-N-Norge." He mumbled something else that England didn't catch, and apparently Prussia hadn't either.

"What's wrong with Norway?" Yes, he knew it was a bloody taboo topic, but Denmark was on the verge of tears. This demanded action!

"Trial separation," he moaned.

_Trial separation?_ England mouthed to Prussia in amazement.

But of course the albino couldn't be discreet. "Trial separation?" he asked out loud. "That's ridiculous. You guys are always getting together and breaking up again. What the hell's so 'trial' about it?"

"Shut it, Prussia." England kicked him under the table. "Why does he want a separation?" Obviously it wasn't Den's idea, since he was the one crying about it.

Denmark just groaned a little. "I'm too manly," he finally said; both his friends burst out laughing. "What? What? It's totally true!" He sat straight up again.

"So, what? Norway wants a girlfriend? Maybe Hungary? Kesesese, his ass will have dents in it from the frying pan!"

"That's not it, you dope. He always wants to do this girly shit, and I don't like it, and we fight about it."

"Girly shit like what?"

"Ballroom dancing_._ Stupid fashion shows. _Flower arranging classes!_ You know. Gay shit like that."

"Oh." Both the friends instantly silenced their laughter. Yes, ballroom dancing and fashion shows had their place in the world, but Denmark wasn't the kind of guy who would eagerly participate. Veneziano, maybe, and France…though England did like to go dancing once in a while himself.

"So you broke up because of this, my awesome friend?"

"Yeah." Denmark finished his beer. "I can't hack it. I don't mind dating a guy but I want to date a _guy,_ you know? Somebody who wants to do guy things, things I like to do."

"Not gay things," England agreed. Den had a point. He got up and waved at the barman, who began to prepare a new round of drinks. "Back in a tick."

By the time he got back Denmark was face-down on the table and crying, while Prussia uselessly patted his hair and made panicked faces at England. "Cheer up, Den. You know he always gets over it," the island nation pointed out.

"I'm not crying for _Norge!_" Denmark yelled, sitting up. "I'm crying for _m-me." _ He hiccupped and swayed against the albino. "Poor me. Poor lonely me."

Prussia and England nodded, sadly drinking their new drinks. "Okay, well, get over it," the albino decided, poking Denmark repeatedly in the side. "We don't want to sit here and listen to all this unawesome moaning! Come on. Drink more, fight more, whatever, but pull yourself out of this!"

"Yeah, all right." Den chugged the beer. "What did you guys do for Christmas?"

"Same old shit. West lectured me about spending too much, so I stayed home and watched him and Veneziano be all loving with each other."

Denmark started to cry; England kicked Prussia under the table. "Git."

"What? Oh! Oh, sorry, Den." He patted the spiky hair again. "Sorry. Want to talk about awesome Super Smash Brothers?"

"Pfft. I don't want to talk about that rubbish." England finished his beer. "Want another round?"

"Yes!" The Dane lifted his empty bottle and waved it like a flag; Prussia just shrugged and nodded.

"Right, sit tight, I'll be back."

…

This sort of thing went on for a few hours. Both England and the albino had stopped speaking, because it seemed that everything they said pushed Denmark right back into his relationship doldrums. England tapped his fingers on the table, glared around the room, drank. This wasn't turning out to be as fun as he'd hoped.

By one o'clock, Denmark had passed out; the other two were in better condition, but not by much. Prussia confessed that he could barely see his hand in front of him lifting the beer bottle. England couldn't understand why the table kept floating up to hit him in the face.

When the bartender came over to clean away their empties, England poked the albino. "Hey. Let's just get him back to his place. We can all slop – strip – _sleep_ there tonight." He hiccupped.

"Awesome," Prussia yawned. "I'll take Den and get a cab. You pay."

"Git." But England pulled out his wallet and managed to focus enough to pay their tab, while Prussia wrangled the inert Dane over his shoulder and trundled unsteadily outside.

…

"I can't carry him another step," Prussia moaned, letting Denmark flop onto the long leather sofa in his living room.

"So don't. I'm going to the g-guest room. Good night."

"Kesesese! I guess I'll take Den's bedroom. That's cool. See you in the morning."

"Happy Boxing Day." The two drunken nations embraced each other with tears in their eyes.

"G-glad we have each other," Prussia moaned weakly; England sniffled, and they swayed up the steps hanging on to each other.

…

Denmark had a beautiful guest bathroom, so the inebriated island nation decided to make use of it. He turned on the shower and undressed, gulping down a few tumblers of clear cool water before he got under the warm spray. Once he got into the stall he realized he couldn't stand up any longer, so he sat down on the floor and let the water play on him like a downpour in a tropical rainforest.

He felt sad for Den, of course, even though he was mildly pissed off that their drinking date had turned into relationship counseling. This sort of rubbish was bound to happen occasionally. Vague thoughts of America floated through the back of his brain but he paid them no heed; he wasn't sorry for himself anymore. He wondered, over and over, just what Norway planned to do during the 'trial separation.' Did he really intend to find a girlier boyfriend, or a girlfriend? Or would he just get back with Denmark again in the end? Would Den do it? He really hated all that gay rubbish, England knew; stick an axe in his hand and he was fine, though. Bloody hell.

He sat under the water for quite a long time, absently playing with the soap and thinking about various nations and relationships. The water eventually began to chill, so he turned it off and got out. He fell into the big comfortable guest bed with one last thought: he was bloody glad he was now out of all that relationship shite.


	21. Chapter 21

England headed to the first meeting of the new year somewhat apprehensive about Romano in general. Were they actually friends? Would they spend time together, or would the Italian be off with Hong Kong again? Maybe Romano felt the debt was paid, and that he didn't need to spend time with England any longer. The island nation didn't want to look like he was desperate for the git's company, so he made up his mind to wait it out.

Accordingly, on the Monday, he entered the conference room with trepidation, peeking around, and was floored to see Romano pressing a shyly-smiling Iceland into the back corner of the room, murmuring into his ear and running his hand through Iceland's white-blond hair. England was so shocked that he failed to get tea – or any breakfast at all – and barely registered the meeting discussions. Romano didn't even appear to have seen him, but sat with Iceland, playing with his hand (or something) under the table, making the Nordic nation blush over and over again.

By noon England (who had been surreptitiously spying on them all morning) decided that any friendship between himself and the brunet had fizzled. He raised his arm to catch the frog's eye – might as well lunch with him as with anyone else – but stumbled when he felt a punch on his arm. "Hey, bastard."

"Ow. Git." He rubbed his arm.

"Want to go to lunch?" Romano sounded a little hesitant, too.

Yes. England jolly well did want to go to lunch, and he was going to permit himself to be the most intrusive wanker that had ever walked the earth. He was tired of all this pussyfooting around, and he was _bloody_ curious. "Fine," he shrugged. "Er – are you going to demand I take you to a restaurant? I'm a bit short on Euro coins."

"It's minus ten degrees out there! I don't care if we stay in the hotel restaurant or go out, but you're not getting me to eat on a damn park bench." Romano delivered this line with his usual vigor, but then he cleared his throat and looked sheepish. "Uh. Sorry. Wh-whatever you want, bastard. I – I guess we could go to a park bench, if you really want to."

Bloody hell, that was almost creepy. "Who are you and what have you done with Italy Romano?" he asked suspiciously, and was slightly relieved when the brunet gave him a little twisted grin in response.

"Shut up and let's go. I don't want to spend the whole fucking lunch hour standing here bantering."

"Whatever! Where do you want to go? This is a big hotel; it has a few different restaurants."

"You choose. Pick a quiet one, please?"

England cut his eyes nervously to the brunet again, but Romano wasn't looking. "Fine. Come along."

Together they went to the café, which only served cold boxed lunches and drinks; each of them got a box and they sat in a booth along the wall to eat. "How have you been?" Romano asked, in an almost normal tone of voice.

"I? I am fine. I have had nothing special going on since I saw you last. But something's bloody wrong with you. What the hell is it? You're freaking me out."

"What, because I asked you to lunch? Cheh, I know I need to be more attentive to my – my friends," he stumbled, as if he wasn't sure either, whether they were friends. "Sorry about last time."

"Eh, whatever. Tell me what the problem is. I saw you putting the moves on Iceland this morning."

Romano grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, he's a cutie, huh? Lucky me, getting him for a roommate. Very sexy boots."

"Never mind that!" England exploded, knocking over his tea. "Bollocks." He mopped it all up, letting out a short laugh when Romano offered him several extra napkins. "Yes, all right, all right. Just – just tell me why you're trying to get into everyone's pants all of a sudden. Did you and Spain break up?"

Romano looked savagely angry for a second, and then he let out a huge sigh, shoulders sagging. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Before Christmas. The bastard wasn't happy about me screwing around with Hong Kong."

"Wait a minute. You were still with Spain when you slept with Hong Kong? How did he find out about it?"

"I told him, you moron."

"You told him you'd slept with someone else." England snorted. "What were you thinking?"

"Ah, stop being so goddamn holier-than-thou, bastard." Romano then told him a bloody twisted story about wanting to perfect his sex techniques so he could go home and impress Spain. God, the git had a lot to learn about life. A _lot._

England said as much, when Romano had caught him up as far as this morning with Iceland. "It's not all about sex, no matter how much you seem to think it is."

"Don't give me a fucking lecture, stupid. It has to be! If you're not compatible with someone sexually, you're fucked, right?" He turned red, but kept talking. "Spain is an ass. I told him I wasn't cheating. I explained it all perfectly well! You understand what I'm saying, right?"

"I understand what you're saying, but that doesn't make it right. It _was_ cheating. You're a sex-obsessed git with your head up your arse. You need to think about giving gifts and other gestures, really showing it, if you want it to last with someone. More romance. That's why it didn't work out with Spain."

"Chigi! Let's not get into that."

"Fine. So, you, what? You're obviously not trying to get back together with him…or is this Iceland business just more 'practice' for you?" He made the air quotes as he spoke.

"No. Spain – that ship has sailed. I'm not interested in him anymore. He couldn't keep up." Romano sounded quite sincere and calm about it – not like a man wrestling his inner demons. England didn't doubt him.

"But you shouldn't just jump into a rebound with Iceland, you know. You need to give yourself some time to get Spain all the way out of your head, spend time with yourself, and all that. Figure out what you want."

"What I _want_ is to find a partner that I'm sexually compatible with!" Romano delivered this line with a thump of his fist on the table, and a table full of old ladies nearby turned to stare at the two. "Uh," he then said, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Good luck," England scoffed, winking at the ladies.

"Anyway, it's not really a rebound. I'm just messing around with Iceland. If he turns out to be a good lover, then, well, who knows? But I'm not really out there looking for The One."

"Good, because you're bloody unlikely to succeed."

"You have too much negativity, stupid. I _might_ succeed."

England decided to let that pass, instead of continuing to point out how brainless that plan was. He lowered his voice. "So what happens when Iceland wants his way with you? Didn't go very well with Hong Kong, did it?"

Romano scowled. "I knew that sneaky little bastard would tell you."

"He thought I could help him understand what you were thinking. He thought, and I thought, that you and I were friends." The blond intentionally left this hanging.

"We – we are! Aren't we?" Romano bit his lip.

"You're so bloody on-again, off-again, that I can't tell." England finished his meal and pushed the empty box away. "Are we? You tell me." He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in the booth.

"Yes, bastard, we are," and the relief came through in Romano's voice. But then – "Aren't we?" he repeated quietly.

England decided to stop torturing him. "Sure, fine, whatever. So what does this mean? In terms of lunches and other such shite? I only ask," he said haughtily, "because I'd like to be able to make lunch plans each day instead of waiting until the last minute and possibly arguing with you about it."

"Stupid," Romano laughed. "Let's just always go to lunch together. Okay? Then I can have my dinners-slash-sexy-playtime with my roommates at night, and have the high-class conversation at lunch." Then his face fell. "Uh. I mean, if – if that's all right with you. I know you have other nations you like to spend time with." He fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, not meeting the blond's eyes.

England pursed his lips while he thought about this. Yes, he socialized with a lot of different nations, but mainly because he had nothing better to do. Fixed lunch dates with Romano were undoubtedly better than begging someone to lunch with him and possibly getting rejected or ignored. And much to his own surprise, he always had fun talking to Romano, and they rarely had to resort to talking about work. "All right," he finally said, and was rewarded with one of his friend's rare, genuine smiles.

"Glad we got that settled," the git said.

"Now, about Iceland's desires," England hissed, somewhat maliciously. "Bet you a Euro he won't put up with this rubbish."

"You are a nasty bastard! But I take your bet. Bet I can get through to Friday without him challenging me. He's a real sweetheart."

Hah. There was no way Iceland was going to meekly put up with this.

…

And he'd been right! On Wednesday he and a livid Romano went to lunch in a different hotel restaurant, and the brunet flung a coin at him before they'd even ordered their lunch. "That little weaselly bastard!"

Of course England knew exactly what he meant. "Didn't like your bloody 'domination' plan, did he?" He pocketed the Euro.

"I don't see why," Romano grumbled.

"Because romance is a two-way street. I don't see how you fail to pick up on this, especially because I keep telling you, point blank." England sipped tea with a smug expression. "You'll have to do something about that."

"It's not romance, idiot."

"Well, of course not! Not if you can't even meet him halfway. You'll never get very far with that attitude."

"Fine; I'll just fuck everyone until they give me backchat, and then move on. It's bound to be more successful than your 'bomb them with gifts and flowers' shit."

"Shut it."

Romano obligingly shut it for a moment while the waitress brought their food.

What a wanker. Sometimes England wondered if he even _wanted_ to be friends with him, but he always concluded that it was better than nothing. He decided to change the subject. "What's going on in Italy? Work-wise, I mean?"

His friend stared at him. "Wh-why are you asking me that?"

"Because I want to know! I don't know. I just thought it might be interesting to talk about something other than bloody sex, for once. I know you're doing most of your nation work, and you know I don't have anyone to take the burden off me. Maybe we could share some suggestions or something. Help work out a boost to both our economies?"

Romano began to smile. "That's a brilliant idea, bastard. Yes." He reached for the salt and they began to toss around ideas for economic improvement.

…

The next few meetings followed a similar pattern: Romano had lunch with England every day, and dined with his roommates at night, as a prelude to seduction. England continued to make bets with his friend, and kept winning, too.

During the first set of lunches, he learned that Macau was a talker during sex; this drove Romano nuts, and he caved and paid the island nation a Euro on Wednesday, and didn't sleep with Macau any more, either.

When the second meeting rolled around, Romano was scheduled to room with Greece. He was almost feverish at their first lunch, because everyone knew Greece's reputation, both as a lover and a snoozer. Romano bet _two_ Euros that week, because he was absolutely convinced that Greece would just lie there sleepily and take it. (He'd wanted to bet ten, but England refused to exploit him and knocked the bet down to two.) When the brunet lost this one he was humorously grateful to his friend for not betting ten.

At the June meeting Romano confessed his nervousness. "It's J-Japan, bastard! I – I don't even know if I can do it."

"So don't."

The brunet actually growled. "I have to, now. I have to prove that my way is right!"

England laughed at him. "It's never going to happen. Nobody but you believes in that 'all you, all the time' rubbish."

"Shut up. Spain did, right? He only left me because he thought I was cheating on him, the stupid bastard. So other people can deal with it, too. But uh, can we – uh – not make a bet this time? I'm not even sure I can make myself try anything."

The island nation smiled angelically at him. "Save your money, my cheap friend. If, and I do mean, if, you can make yourself try, then we can revisit this discussion."

"Dammit, you're a sassy bastard."

"That's me. Finish your lunch."

That had been on Monday. It was now Wednesday; Japan had succumbed to his seductive advances and calmly let him do what he wanted, but almost as soon as Romano was done, the Asian pushed him down on the bed and tried to take his turn. "N-no," Romano stammered. "I don't do that."

"Romano-sama." After that succinct comment, Japan raised his eyebrows and nodded before going into the bathroom to wash up.

That was pretty creepy. Romano took his turn in the bathroom and bundled himself up in his own bed, trying very hard to relax. At least they hadn't had a fight about it. He wondered if Japan would tell the potato bastard or Veneziano, and now he felt intensely stupid for not thinking of that ahead of time. _Chigi!_

…

In the morning he wordlessly set a Euro in front of England, who laughed and laughed. "A few more meetings like this and I'll have enough for a vacation," the blond joked.

"This is pretty tiresome, I have to admit."

"Eh, take a break from it. Your wallet could use the rest. Not to mention your cock."

"Shut the fuck up, you vulgar bastard. Figure out where we're going to lunch."

"Yes, all right."

Romano had recovered his good humor by lunchtime, when they went for a walk and got sandwiches from a street vendor. "I know where there's a park," he pointed out smugly; this meeting was in Berlin, and he'd been here enough times with his stupid brother.

"Fine, let's go."

"Here. Sit down and shut up."

Rowans around them were in full leaf. England tilted his head back and smiled at the sight before unwrapping his sandwich and beginning to eat. The sounds of the city surrounded them like a cocoon; laughing children and harassed mothers played in the park. The bark of an occasional dog broke the background hum, but it was a grand day, and England felt pretty good. "Lovely day."

"Yeah," Romano agreed. "You might almost think there was nothing wrong in the world."

"Pfft. Not when I'm sitting with you, I wouldn't. There's always something wrong in your life."

"I hate you." The brunet poked him with a pretzel.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it and stop poking me. I want to eat."

"Eat, stupid. Then maybe we can go for a walk. I – I really need to get Japan out of my head."

"All right. I'll babysit you, nervous boy." But England was too curious. "What actually happened?"

"You seriously want to know? Hah. It was like making love to a statue, or a plastic doll or something. He just did what I told him, without saying anything."

"Then why did you give me the bloody Euro?"

"I couldn't hack it anymore! He's like a fucking robot." Romano rubbed his face with a grin. "B-but, also, you did win the bet. He didn't say anything, but it was pretty damn obvious what he wanted me to do."

"But he didn't say _anything_?"

"Not about that. I, uh, I just said no, and he said 'Romano-sama' and went to shower." Romano bit his lip and looked away. "Listen, sorry, that was in poor taste and I shouldn't have blabbed about it. I just needed to get it off my chest."

"Wanker. You know I'm discreet." England drank some water.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks."

"So that's the end of it, for this meeting? Going to try again?"

"Hell, no! You know, he's such good friends with my brother and the potato bastard, half my mind is afraid that stupid Germany's going to come after me and beat me up!"

England laughed. "Veneziano wouldn't let him."

"You don't think so?" Romano seemed intensely relieved. "It's so awkward."

"Just keep your mouth shut, leave him alone, and get through the rest of the week. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

…

On Friday, Romano came to the meeting and flashed his friend a thumbs-up with a grin. Guess he'd gotten through the week with no more Japan problems, then. That was a relief.

…

_I should have called this story "Love on One Euro a Day."_

_Note: Orithyea's review makes me think that "Romano-sama" is not right; I thought I'd seen somewhere on a wiki that Japan calls him this to show respect (?) If this is a glaringly wrong term, someone please tell me and I'll change it. I have no experience with Asian culture at all, except what I get from Hetalia! Sorry._


	22. Chapter 22

"Oh, _fuck._" Romano stopped short inside his hotel room door and stared at his playmate of the week.

"Hey, dude! Great to see you! How have you been? Cool that we're rooming together, huh? I was really surprised when Poland told me." But then America faltered a bit, as if he'd remembered something unpleasant. "Uh, I took the bed by the window. I hope that's all right with you? We can switch if you want; I really don't care. Man, I have a ton of shit to do before tomorrow. Hope I can find my way around Warsaw! Do you know the place well? How are you, anyway? Need help with the suitcase? How's that arm, by the way? All better? I see the cast's off. That's cool. Are you doing all right? Need anything? Just let me know! I'm happy to help, okay? You can count on the hero, man!" He flashed a grin and thumbs-up.

What a moron. The cast had been off for over a year! Romano took a deep breath and blew it all out. "Bastard, you're babbling," he said, to play for time. "The arm's fine; I can manage the damn suitcase." He lifted it onto the other bed and began to unpack.

Shit. Of all the nations he could have ended up with! America was undeniably hot, that was true. But – but Romano wasn't sure about pursuing him (even just to fool around), because of the hero's ex-relationship with England. Wh-what if Romano and America fell in love? That would probably hurt his friend a lot. A _lot._

Uh. Well, maybe he'd just leave the bastard alone this week. Not try to seduce him or anything. That would be easiest, and the most sensible thing. Yes.

The blond had continued to babble. "Shut up," Romano muttered absently, shoving his clothing into his side of the dresser.

"Uh, yeah, okay. Hey, listen, I'm going out; I have to pick up some stuff downtown. W-want to go with me?"

Dammit. He was blushing. Romano just wanted to throw him down on the bed and spank that heroic ass! "Ahem. N-no, that's all right. I have some work to do."

"Okay, cool. See you later!"

After America had bounded out of the room like an overexcited Labrador, Romano collapsed on his bed. What the fuck was he going to do this week? He was already thinking of things the two of them could do together. That little Icelandic trick with the fingers – dammit!

He thought about jerking off, but decided it wasn't worth it right now. Shit, what was he going to _do_?

…

Monday morning he sat next to England at the table and offered him an awkward greeting. He hadn't approached America for any playtime last night, but he'd spent the night tossing and turning, unable to get that heroic body out of his mind. So Romano was exhausted, and didn't want to piss off his friend, and didn't want to talk about any fucking bets, either. Not this week.

"Hello yourself, git. How are you?"

"Not bad. Are we going to lunch today?"

England glared at him. "Why are you asking? I thought we had a standing thing, always having lunch? Bloody hell, if you – "

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "Sorry. I was just checking."

Poland began the meeting before they could speak further, and Romano was kind of glad about that. He didn't want to talk to the blond bastard about America, but he'd almost – _almost_ – made up his mind that tonight he was going to try to seduce the hero, without letting himself fall in love. (Cheh. That part would be easy. The bastard talked _way_ too much.) It was too good an opportunity to miss. So he really needed to watch what he said around England. He'd have to come up with some generic topics to talk about at lunch. Hmm. Yeah, what the fuck; they could talk about work. That ought to be safe.

…

That night he went to the room; America was sitting around not doing much of anything. Romano tried a sneaky approach; after some chat, he took off his jacket, shirt and tie, and stretched, puttering around the room trying not to act self-conscious. Then he realized he was still wearing his "England boots" (as he always thought of them now) and rushed to take them off and shut them out of sight in the closet, as though they might jinx him.

"Aren't you cold?" America asked. "W-w-without your shirt, I mean." Dammit, he was blushing again! How cute.

"It's comfortable in here, bastard. Take yours off and see."

America hopped up off his bed and popped all the buttons off his shirt, he was trying to take it off so fast. Romano had to fight not to laugh. "Not too cold," the hero agreed with a dopey grin.

The brunet appraised him blatantly. "Nice body." Would the dumb bastard take the bait? Well, if he didn't, then Romano would just leave him alone the rest of the week, and it wouldn't cause any problems with Engl-

And then the burger bastard fell right into line with the scheme, reaching out for Romano and pulling him close. Their mouths met, the strong hands gripped Romano's waist as he cupped America's face in his hands. "Man, you're hot," the blond mumbled into his mouth, sliding his hands down the back of the Italian's pants.

Cheh. "I know it, moron. But so are you."

"I meant your skin! Ha ha ha!" America broke the kiss to laugh.

What an idiot! Still. He was a fucking _hot_ idiot. Romano grabbed him again and pushed him down on the bed. "Ready for this, bastard?" He began unbuckling America's belt, removing his pants.

The blond didn't answer, but grinned feverishly and took his glasses off, flinging them wildly across the room, where they landed on the little desk with a clatter and skittered off the other side to land in the trash can with a clang.

"Holy shit," Romano moaned, when the hero was fully naked and sprawled on the rumpled white bed. How the hell had England been able to break up with _that_?

Uh. He put England right out of his head and got down to business.

…

America was in seventh heaven this week. He'd been pretty worried, when Romano had first started kissing him. He'd seen him hanging around with Iggy lately – who hadn't? – and wondered if this was some kind of evil humiliation ploy the island nation had cooked up.

But no, England wouldn't really do something like that, not after all this time. And would Romano really prostitute himself for that? Probably not. Then the next worry was whether Iggy had ever told Romano about the race day, and the hero's failure to help. He decided the half-nation wouldn't be sleeping with him if he was holding a grudge, so America just kept his mouth shut and enjoyed the ride.

He did wonder what the old man would say when he found out the two of them were dating, though. America had been thinking it was time to get back in the game, but hadn't made up his mind about which nation to approach. Seemed Romano had done that for him! He even wondered if Romano had arranged for the two of them to room together on purpose. This whole situation was mind-blowing, because the Italian was very sexy. America was flying high! This was completely awesome, all right.

Uh, it _had been_ awesome. Until tonight.

Every night this week America had allowed Romano to have his own way. Monday night he'd been so surprised and excited that it hadn't occurred to him to do otherwise; Tuesday he'd wanted to savor it. Last night he'd claimed his turn, but Romano had already put the rubber on, so he'd promised America that tonight, Thursday, would be his turn.

The naked blond now knelt on the bed, erect and fiddling awkwardly with the condom. "Hurry up and get naked, man! We're wasting time!"

The shirtless Romano stood at the bed's foot, scowling. "Forget it, bastard. Take that thing off."

"What the hell are you talking about, dude? You said tonight I could!"

"Yeah, well, I lied in the heat of the moment, all right? I don't bottom." Romano threw his shirt on the floor.

"What? Everybody bottoms sometimes. You have to share, if you want a strong relationship."

"Dammit, not that shit again." The brunet rolled his eyes, but then smirked at him. "I'm in this for the sex, not a 'relationship.'"

Oh. But the hero rallied. "Still, you did promise."

"Will you shut up? I'm telling you right now it's not going to happen!"

America sat back on his haunches. "You're a selfish dick! I let you have your own way so far because you're so hot, but this is nuts. You _have_ to take turns."

"I don't have to do any such thing, bastard." Fists on hips, the half-nation scowled at him.

"Man, have you got a lot to learn. Even Iggy used to take his turn." America grinned vacantly, remembering some of their times together.

"_Chigi!"_ Romano screamed shrilly, scooping his shirt off the floor and struggling into it. "Shut the fuck up, you stupid idiot! Forget it! I'm leaving!" Face a bright, angry red, he ran out and slammed the door, leaving a no-longer-aroused heroic nation sagging back onto the pillows in confusion.

…

Romano ran down the hallway, fumbling with his shirt buttons. Damn that stupid, pushy fucker! His feet automatically headed towards the hotel bar, and then an icy fear gripped his heart almost as if someone had reached into his rib cage and squeezed all the blood out of it. America was a big, strong, and _angry_ nation right now. What if he came after Romano? Demanded his turn? He couldn't fight the bastard off! He wasn't strong enough. Th-that would be rape, then? _Dammit!_

He instead headed down to the lobby. He needed to get out of the hotel, out of reach. He'd be safer out in public.

Scurrying, but trying not to look scared, he ran out into the city streets and loped off, trying to put distance between himself and the burger bastard. What was he going to do? That was his room, too! Maybe he could sleep in the lobby or something tonight. Or with Veneziano. Dammit, he might even blow off the rest of the meeting and head for home tonight, if he could only figure out how to get back into the room and get all his shit packed without America realizing he was there. Maybe he could talk his _fratello_ into doing it for him?

For more than an hour Romano hustled around the city; luckily it was not very late, and he didn't feel too self-conscious in the rushing crowds. But he kept glancing over his shoulder, looking for that blond heroic head, breaking into a little trot each time the fear assailed him again. Sometimes he'd duck into a doorway or try to hide behind a tree or a lamppost, but the coast was always clear.

Rounding a corner while looking over his shoulder, he slammed right into someone. "Sorry," he muttered, before realizing it was England with a mouthful of food and a little paper bag of something in his hand. The island nation stopped walking and stared at him while he finished chewing.

Shit, now he really _was_ sorry. He'd fucked up big-time, he now understood. How to explain this week's neglect to his friend without dragging America's name into it? "Fuck!" he snapped.

England swallowed. "Nice to see you too, git," he said sarcastically.

Their eyes met, and Romano knew he looked like a panicky little kid, but right now the blond was his best safety precaution. "W-will you walk with me for a while? Just walk, no talking? P-please?" His teeth were chattering with nerves; dammit, he felt so fucking weak and idiotic, and he had to look away.

England seemed to think for a moment, and then – "All right. Here, want some peanuts?" He held the bag out as they began to walk.

"No," Romano mumbled, falling into step beside him.

His brain felt like a fucking butterfly, unable to settle on anything. He was still worried about America, and kept checking over his shoulder, and he was worried about England, who was being suspiciously nice to him. Romano didn't know what to say to the bastard.

England did keep silent while they walked, occasionally extending the peanut bag towards him; he always declined with a shake of his head. Pedestrians all seemed to get out of their way as if by magic. They walked in random directions as it got darker; street lamps came on, and the noise of the city began to dwindle a little bit as shoppers and workers headed home.

"Don't worry," his friend eventually said. "He's not going to do anything unheroic, like trying to force you. You in particular are perfectly safe from him." He crumpled up the empty bag and tossed it into a trash can.

Romano was so shocked he failed to give that last statement the attention it deserved. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Bastard, you – how the _fuck_ did you figure that out?"

"Think I'm stupid?" England pointed to a bench under a rowan tree and they walked over to sit; Romano figured it was safe, because it was almost dark now. Even if America came by, he probably wouldn't spot them in the shadows. "I knew you had some boy-toy rubbish going on, because you haven't been talking to me or having lunch with me. Right? It had to be some sex angle, because you were hiding from me. I didn't think you'd just ignore me if you were bored with my company. You'd say something about it."

Shit. He rubbed his hand over his face as they sat. "Yeah, and?"

England continued in his lecturing voice. "The fact that you were completely avoiding me made me think you were fooling around with someone dubious, maybe Francy-pants. I asked at the front desk, and they told me your roommate was America."

"Dammit." What a nosy bastard.

"So, knowing you and your domination thing, I deduced that tonight he'd balked at it, and you got scared that he'd force you. So you ran out of the hotel. Right? Am I right?"

"You're right, Sherlock fucking Holmes." Romano sagged back against the park bench and pushed his hand through his hair. He felt so stupid! "I'm a total asshole."

"Sometimes," England agreed, making him snort. "Mostly just too self-centered. You need to look at the big picture more often. The long-term results of your actions. One of these days – probably pretty soon – you're going to get yourself into major trouble because you weren't thinking ahead."

"But he – I – uh – " Romano didn't quite know how to describe what had happened with America. "I didn't want to, bastard, but it just happened," he offered, as a sort of apology.

"Yeah. Every night this week, and probably every lunchtime, too," England sneered.

"Fuck. No. At – at lunch I just went and hid in the room, because I was too fucking embarrassed to talk to you." Romano blew out a breath. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?"

"Are you really? Or are you just saying that so I'll help you deal with him? Git."

"Shut up."

They sat on the bench a while longer. England looked like he was fed up, but Romano still felt like shit. "I – I really am. Sorry, I mean. I – when I first found out he was my roommate I was fucking conflicted, because of you, but – but then – "

"But then your balls got the better of you."

He shrugged. "Pretty much." Dammit, he was never going to sleep with anyone, ever again. It was too much of an emotional hassle. Too much risk. He threw his head back and stared up at the dark leaves on the trees, wishing this was all behind him.

After a few more minutes of silence England spoke up again. "Well, you are my friend, and friends look out for each other, no matter how stupid one of them is being. Let's go back to the hotel, and I'll talk to him for you." He sighed and stood up.

"Bastard, wait. No. I – I don't want to put you to that awkwardness. You don't have to say anything." But Romano got off the bench as well.

"Well, what then? You've still got to stay in that room tonight, you know."

But that gave him an idea. "C-c-could I, could I please stay in your room? I'll sleep in a chair, or on the floor, or whatever. Do you think your roommate would m-mind?"

He must have had a very tortured look on his face, because England softened and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't mind. I'm sharing with Denmark." That in itself surprised Romano. Why wasn't Denmark sharing with Norway? But the blond kept speaking. "Let's see if we can get him to switch with you, okay? Then you can at least have a bed instead of the bloody floor."

Comforted more than he could express, Romano simply reached up and covered that strong, cool hand with his own for a few seconds. "Thank you, England. Thanks for putting up with my shit."

"Eh. Nothing better to do," the island nation snorted, and Romano laughed with him, weak with relief.

…

"Yeah, sure, whatever. I have no issues with America." Denmark got up off the bed, where he'd been lounging and watching TV. "Give me a minute to pack my stuff up, all right?"

They hadn't told the Dane why Romano wanted to switch, just said that they had some things to talk about. But he apparently wasn't a prying kind of bastard, thank God. The brunet watched as he packed up the suitcase. "Thanks again."

"Come on, take me over there." Denmark grinned at them. Man, he was tall. Romano wondered how much hair gel he needed to use, to get that spiky look.

"I'll come too," England announced airily. The three of them went down the hall.

America was, thankfully, not in the hotel room. Romano rushed to pack while Denmark set his bag down. "Right, well, I'm going to go down to the bar. You guys want to join me?" the Viking asked when Romano was done.

He didn't want to run into America. He just wanted to get to safety, the safety of England's room. "No, thanks, bastard," he mumbled. "Maybe next time."

"Right, see you, Den." England gave the brunet and his suitcase a little shove down the hall.

"See you later!" Denmark walked off towards the elevators, whistling.

…

Upon their return to the room, the two nations sat quietly, each on a bed, facing each other across the gap between them. Neither had spoken for a few minutes. Romano hung his head, staring at his hands in his lap; England, calmer, watched him and waited, and scuffed his bare feet absently back and forth on the faded grey carpet. "Will you be all right?" he asked, very softly.

Romano nodded, but didn't speak.

"Knowing America, he'll probably try to avoid you from now on. He likes to duck out of problems, so don't worry about him; just ignore him. But if he does give you any shit, tell me. And – and just let me know if you'd like to talk more, or if you need me to get you anything," England went on.

From his vantage point he saw one lone tear fall onto his friend's left hand; with his right, Romano rubbed it into the skin and nodded again. "Y-you're a really good friend," he finally mumbled, sounding surprised about it.

"I try to be."

"Why, though?" Romano said in anguish, looking directly at him; England was unsurprised to see more tears standing in the amber eyes. "All I ever do is treat you like shit! I – I don't mean to, b-b-bastard, but somehow it always turns out like that." He sniffled and rubbed the backs of his hands against his eyes.

England considered how best to phrase it. "Everybody needs a friend," he began. "Even you. Even me, as strong and independent as I am." He smiled a little. It was true, though. Everyone did need a friend. And he'd had more fun – just plain _fun_ – with Romano than he'd had in a long time. "I like spending time with you. Yes, you're a self-centered git, yes, you treat me like shit sometimes, but you'll grow out of it eventually. I hope so, at least," he concluded with a smirk.

Romano smiled weakly. "You're the biggest bastard I ever met."

"Yeah, I know; that's what they all say. Listen, are you hungry or anything? I know it's late but we walked a lot more than I'd expected to, and all I ate was that bloody bag of peanuts. Want to call for some room service?"

"Good idea. I didn't eat tonight." Romano got up for the menu and brought it over. He sat gingerly next to England on the bed and they discussed various dishes. "I – I'll pay," he offered, once they'd decided.

"Sit down and shut it. You don't have any money, Mister Coach Class, and I have a giant stack of Euros now. So I'll pay. It's not a restaurant, but it'll have to do."

"I _hate_ you," Romano grinned, slapping him on the back with the menu. "Words cannot express what a sarcastic bastard you are."

"I know." England was glad to see him smiling. He'd help him get through the America awkwardness somehow. He hoped it would all blow over quickly. It really was a pain in the arse when Romano stirred up all this bloody drama.

He also wished he could entreat him to slow down with all the sodding sex experiments. If he'd stop that, the drama would stop, too. But he wasn't quite certain how to bring it up, not certain it was his place to mention it. Romano might be stubborn enough to keep doing it, just as a knee-jerk reaction to being lectured.

England sighed and headed to the telephone to call for the food. Somehow they'd get through it.

…

Romano couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning, he kept thinking about the shit that had happened tonight, all the way from the fight with America until they'd turned off the lights to sleep. Tonight had shown him how much he wanted to keep England's friendship. He'd been absolutely terrified tonight, and his friend – whom he'd neglected all week – had still helped him out. A lot. Even if Romano hadn't made up his mind to stop seducing other nations, he'd have decided that now. His friendship with the blond was more important to him than bland fucks with random roommates. In fact he needed to work at the friendship and make it better.

And besides, hanging out with England would be safe; nobody would bother him, if he had backup all the time.

He rolled over again and checked the clock. Nearly three. Romano growled in frustration, forgetting that he wasn't alone in the room.

"Bloody hell," England hissed from the other bed. "Will you stop making noises like a chained dog? I'm trying to sleep!"

Oops. "S-sorry. Got a lot to think about, and my mind won't let me sleep," he whispered.

In a normal tone of voice, England said, "Hah. Well, me neither, really. Nothing to do with you flopping about on that bed. Need to talk?"

"Fuck, I don't know. What is there to talk about? I was a dick, and you stood by me, and I still feel like a dick, and you're still standing by me! I – I feel very stupid about all this." Romano rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"Good."

"Huh?" That was a harsh comment.

"If you're feeling stupid about it, at least maybe you're learning something. If you'd just said 'oh well' and gone to sleep, I'd have no bloody hope for you at all." England's voice was cheerful.

Romano started laughing. "Dammit, why do I always get so entertained by your stupid commentary?"

"Because I'm entertaining, even at three in the morning. Now, seriously, we do need to get some sleep. Will you be all right? Do you want to get up and talk, or go for a walk or something?"

Dammit, that idea was much too exhausting. "No, thanks. I can still get a couple hours of sleep, if I let myself relax. Four or five hours ought to do it. Let me sleep until seven-thirty, all right?"

"What, now I'm your bloody alarm clock?" England, laughing, threw a pillow at his head.

Romano just grinned at him, not sure if it was visible in the dark, and flung the pillow back across the gap. "Good night, alarm clock bastard."

"Good night, you miserable git."

…

In the morning, America turned his whole body away when they entered the conference room. That was good to see, Romano considered. America was the most frightening part of this unknown equation. If the dumb bastard would just ignore him – maybe pretend they didn't even know each other – he could get over all the other shit.

"Hey," Denmark said, looking down at the two of them. "You two all right?" The three of them headed towards the buffet.

"I'm okay," England offered, raising an eyebrow at Romano. "You?"

"Cheh, yes, bastards, I'm perfectly fine." Since he didn't know Denmark well, he instead punched England in the arm affectionately.

"Wanker. Your fist's all right, at least."

"Hah. Uh – uh – thanks for switching with me, bastard." He looked up at Denmark again and saw the blue eyes crinkled in a merry grin.

"No problem at all. America and I had a great time together. Don't worry about him."

Both the other nations cut their eyes to America, who was still ignoring them all. "If you say so."

"Yeah, it's all right." Denmark grabbed a cup of coffee and went back to the table.

"Right, now, listen to me, you bloody idiot," England hissed with a grin, putting doughnuts on a plate. "Hands off everyone for the rest of the day! Do you think you can do that?"

Romano kicked him, laughing. "Yes, you moron, I can do that. Shut up and let's sit down."

And the rest of the meeting was actually kind of amusing, especially when he saw America put his head down and fall asleep, drooling on the table.


	23. Chapter 23

Romano headed off to Rome one morning in a pretty good mood. Since the America fiasco, he'd gone two whole months without sex (except when he tackled things himself), and had almost stopped considering it a part of daily existence! He would never have believed it, if someone had told him this a year ago. But he was now focusing on his work, and Italy was in good shape, despite his brother's inattention to it. Romano wasn't the kind of gay bastard who would whistle while he worked, but that's how he felt at this point: satisfied and proud of himself, pleased with the way his life was trending.

The next meeting, in Thailand, approached in another month. He'd been debating and procrastinating about buying a first-class ticket. What he really wanted to do was ask England to travel with him – whether in first class or coach – but he wasn't sure about that. Maybe the bastard was still actually pissed off at him about all that shit in Poland. Romano knew he would be, if the tables had been turned. Or it might be inconvenient for England, or he might balk at the idea of traveling coach. And first class would be full of nation bastards, which wasn't appealing unless the two of them were guaranteed to sit together. What if he ended up next to Switzerland? Argh. But he kept putting off the email request, unsure about what to do.

He'd taken the train home from the Warsaw meeting in a very thoughtful mood. The encounter and disaster with America, and England's help with it, had been something well worth thinking about. He really liked the way England wasn't too pushy and yet they could still be friendly with each other. He knew that if the blond had some kind of problem, Romano would try to help.

He also had to admit that before the screwup with America, he would _not_ have helped. It wouldn't even have occurred to him.

And so in this way the Italian realized he was growing up a little, or being less selfish, or some shit, and he was pleased with himself about that, too.

When he came home from work, he was quite surprised to see the tomato bastard on the porch. "Hi," he said calmly. A little compartment of his mind started waving red flags and yelling about sex, but Romano ignored it. "How are you?"

"May I come in, Lovi?" Spain smiled brilliantly at him.

Ah, Romano didn't mind. "Sure, come into the kitchen." They went in together; he dumped his briefcase on the kitchen counter. "Would you like some espresso?"

"_Sí, gracias._"

Romano bustled about making the drinks. "What's going on, bastard? Why are you here? Is something wrong?" Well, yes. If he was going to be man enough to help England with his problems (metaphorically) then he had to be man enough to help Spain, too, if he needed it. Or anyone else. He just hoped fucking Russia would never need his help…or America.

Spain waited until he had his espresso cup in hand. "Lovi, I want you back," he blurted out, staring into the steaming liquid.

Romano blinked. Oh.

The elder nation kept speaking – almost babbling. "I don't like the idea of you out there in the rude world alone without me by your side. I want us to be together again like we used to be." He swigged some espresso.

Now that was truly surprising. In his more introspective moments Romano had lately been wondering just why the hell Spain had stayed with him all those years, when all he did was provide Romano with a sexual outlet. He knew it couldn't have been fulfilling for the bastard. Hell, it hadn't been fulfilling for him, except superficially. "You do?" he asked in amazement.

"I'm so lonely, Lovi!" Spain whined.

Romano took a deep breath. He was surprised at how un-conflicted he was, how collected and sensible he felt. "You want to get laid?" he asked baldly. "Or what? Because, you know we didn't have a really great relationship. All we ever did was fuck," and he blushed, running a hand over his face to hide it. Dammit, that sounded so stupid, when he said it out loud.

"_Sí,_ I know, but that's fine with me."

The half-nation shook his head and dropped his hand. "Not with me, though, bastard. I'm grateful to you for sticking with me all those years, but that's not really a very good basis for a relationship. I – I think you deserve better than that," he stammered, turning away as he heard those words. But they were true words. England was right. Sex alone didn't make a relationship. Hadn't the last few months of meetings proved that for him? One disaster after another! He rubbed his face again. "Th-there's got to be someone out there who's more suited to you."

Spain didn't speak. Romano turned back to see the green eyes gleaming and an astonished smile on his friend's face. "Lovi, that's so progressive of you! I would never have thought you'd be so mature."

"What, _ever_? Dammit."

The elder nation ignored that. "I'm proud of you. And…I think you're right. I mean, I _know_ you're right, my friend. I know that what we had wasn't love. But it was part of my life for so long that I'm sort of lost without it."

"Ah, bastard, you just need to get out and about more." When Spain rolled his eyes, Romano shook his head. "No, I'm serious. Just get a fresh perspective. You know it makes sense. You stay all alone in that big house and you have no idea what's actually going on in the world. Go see the perv—go see France, or someone. He'd be able to help you better than I can." Romano thought about France and Spain for a moment. Yes. France would be able to help, no question.

"You're sure you don't want to get back together?"

"I'm sure, dumbass. I've got new focuses now; I'm really getting into the nation work, instead of just floating along watching. Italy's really shaping up! You could use a new focus, too."

"Y-you don't have another boyfriend, do you?" Spain drained the mug and set it on the granite countertop without looking up.

"No." Romano felt rather sour about that, but he wasn't going to lie to the bastard.

Spain nodded. "I'm quite proud of you, _mi tomatito._ You're finally becoming a man."

"Cheh. I was a man before, you idiot. Just a – a selfish man." He rubbed his face again and felt his friend embrace him.

"_Gracias,_ Lovi. Keep being strong. I'll always be there for you, if you need me."

Romano hugged him back – but only briefly. He wasn't sure he could stick with this new no-sex deal, not while that ass was within reach. "Go, bastard. Go make a better life for yourself."

They walked together to the door and Spain patted him on the head. "Be good!"

"Chigi! Stop treating me like a puppy dog!" Romano reached up to fix his hair, but their eyes met, and both nations began to laugh. "Take care of yourself."

"You too, Lovi. I hope we both find love, real love, one of these days."

Romano considered that unlikely, but he shrugged. "Best of luck with it."

He watched Spain's departure with a calm heart, and didn't shut the front door until the bastard was totally out of sight. That had actually been fucking cathartic for him. Another reason to be proud of himself! Romano began to whistle as he headed inside to check his emails, and when he caught himself whistling, he stopped and frowned. How lame he was sometimes.

But he still felt pretty damn good.

And like a reward for his good behavior, in his inbox was an email from England, asking if he wanted to travel together in first class to Thailand. Romano permitted himself to whistle again as he responded with a grin and a _yes._


	24. Chapter 24

_It's a good thing I did all that research for "Estonia's Love Life"!_

…

"I'm pretty fucking excited."

"Don't get your hopes up, wanker. Other than the seats and drinks it's not that much different."

But Romano elbowed him with a blush. "Don't be an ass. I meant it would be fun to hang out together on the flight."

"Oh. Well, yes." England retaliated with a poke in the arm. "Of course it will. You _are_ traveling with me, after all."

Romano snorted at that. The two of them sat at the gate, awaiting the boarding announcement. Lots of other nations were here: his _fratello_ and the potato brothers were sitting in a corner, most of the Nordics (no Denmark, though), Poland and Lithuania, Russia, Belarus and Ukraine. He hoped none of those bastards would be sitting near them, though he knew from his frantic online research that first-class cabins were pretty small. Probably there wouldn't be anybody in first class who _wasn't_ a nation. Dammit. "Th-thanks for asking me," he said solemnly. "I – I wanted to ask you but I was afraid you'd say no." Romano felt like he had to be on his best behavior, both to make it easy on his friend and to make sure he didn't act like a gawking idiot on the plane.

England scoffed. "Look, just relax, will you? Nine times out of ten I'm traveling alone, and you can see all these wankers have someone to sit with. I'm quite pleased to be traveling with you. The trip will be a lot less boring this way, unless you fall asleep or read the whole way over."

"I didn't even bring a book," Romano laughed, "not even my tablet. Since this is my first time in the first-class cabin I, uh, I didn't want to miss any of it."

"You'll be fine. I'll try to keep you entertained, all right, so if you get bored without your tablet, just tell me. I'm certain I can arrange a flight-attendant chorus line, or something."

"You're such a bastard. I'm going to make you entertain me all the way there, but we don't need to involve the poor flight attendants. They're going to be busy bringing us our drinks and things, anyway, right?"

"Drinks and extra napkins," the blond smirked.

"Bet you a Euro," Romano began, laughing, but stopped when he heard a falsetto voice chorusing along with his. "What? Bastard, you knew I was going to say that?"

"You're a betting maniac! Of course I knew. Let's see." England stroked an imaginary beard while he thought. "Going to bet that you didn't spill anything all the way over. Am I right?"

"Right, dammit." Surprisingly, Romano wasn't pissed off by the supercilious comment, just amused. Before he could speak again, the boarding announcement was made, and he eagerly jumped up, grabbing his bag, jittering in place while he waited for England to get his shit together and join him.

…

The two nations leaned their heads close together. "I'm a little creeped out by the fact that Russia is on this plane with us," Romano whispered into his friend's ear.

"You still haven't gotten over that accident shite? I'm telling you, I really don't think he would have done it."

"Bastard, he's a fucking maniac! Look at him!"

Together they looked at Russia, who was sitting calmly next to Ukraine and trying to ignore Belarus. "He looks perfectly normal to me," the blond whispered. "Just trying to ignore bloody Belarus." A little spark of indignation flared up in him as he remembered how Belarus, too, had passed the fallen Romano on the race day, but it died out as his friend began whispering again.

"You can't use that as a barometer, stupid. Everybody tries to ignore that psycho bitch."

The flight attendant came by. "Do you gentlemen require anything?"

England knew he should sit up but it was pretty cozy leaning against his friend. "Thank you. I'll have a vodka martini."

Apparently Romano didn't mind it either. "Bloody Mary, please. Thank you." She moved on, and he lowered his voice even further, to whisper right into England's ear. "So, listen. There's – uh – something that's been bothering me for a long time that I want to talk to you about."

Concerned, England sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Hsst! No!" Romano pulled him down so their heads were leaning together again. "Don't panic. I just don't want to say this out loud."

"You're frightening me, git." But England nestled close again; his friend was warm and comfortable.

"Shut up. It's not a huge big deal." Romano let go of him and lowered his voice once more. "About those women's shoes."

England exploded with laughter, and most of the people in the cabin turned to look at them. He saw that Romano's face was burning red, and the brunet had covered it with both hands, laughing too. Of all the topics –! Once he'd caught his breath, he asked, "What do you want to know?"

Romano uncovered his face but kept laughing. "Dammit, don't make a spectacle of us."

"Bit late for that now." The flight attendant chose that moment to return with their drinks. England thanked her nicely and she left them alone. "Fine," the blond then whispered. "What did you want to ask me? No, wait. Let me finish my drink first. I don't want to spray vodka all over the back of Sweden's seat if you make me laugh again."

"Shut the fuck up." Romano guzzled his drink as well, and they set the empty cups on England's tray table. "Do you – do you actually buy them and wear them? Or do you just try them on in stores?" His face was so bloody red that England wanted to laugh again, but he managed not to.

"No, I wear them, sometimes. But unless people are actively looking, they generally don't notice; my trousers hide most of the view. I have five pairs: three pairs of pumps and two pairs of boots."

The amber eyes were wide. "Seriously? Uh…why?"

"Why not? They're nice to look at, and it makes me feel smug to walk around town in them. A lot of older people get offended, and I have to admit I don't mind tweaking their noses, as it were. Just to get the reactions." He picked up his empty glass and tried to drain the last few drops. "I'll tell you what; I know we wear the same size shoes. Next meeting I'll bring a pair of pumps for you to try on."

"Dammit!" Romano smacked him and started snickering; Russia and Belarus both turned to look at them.

"Settle down, will you? It's not like I can force you to put them on. What would you expect me to do, tie you to a chair and stuff your feet into them, Cinderella?"

_"Shut up!"_

England snorted a little and flagged down the flight attendant for another round. "Anything else you want to know?" he asked, rather airily.

"D-do you – ah, forget it, you don't, I know you don't."

"Do I wear women's clothing too?" the blond murmured with a grin. "Is that what you were going to ask?"

"Fucking mind reader. Yes. Well? Do you?" The amber eyes darted around the cabin, as if he couldn't bear to look at England.

"Not in public. Sometimes at home." Not much, though, after he'd broken up with America. Most of it was in the attics now. "I have a really pretty Lolita dress from Japan that I've not yet tried on," he mused. "Maybe I should bring that to the next meeting, too." He gave Romano a smirk as he eyed him to calculate his size. "Nah, wouldn't fit _you_ right," he laughed.

Romano stared at him again, having apparently missed that last remark. "That's…unbelievable."

"Ah, you're just too uptight. I bet you'd look sweet in a frilly dress, or a flowery apron." England raised his eyebrows, and Romano smacked him in the arm again, before they both dissolved into unmanly giggles.

…

This meeting was fucking _amazing._ The morning session was actually interesting this time. Fun! Thailand was an excellent presenter, mixing enough humor with his talks to keep everyone attentive and chuckling. Everything went quite smoothly, until lunch break.

"Hold on, bastard, I need to talk to my brother first."

"Yes, all right." England moved to the window.

Romano spoke to his _fratello_ about the meeting. "Ve, all right, whatever you say. Germany will help me, won't he?" Veneziano beamed at the burly blond.

"Just as you wish, Italy."

Chigi! Didn't the damn bastard remember that Romano was Italy too? Any goodwill that Germany had earned from helping out after The Incident had completely evaporated, and Romano disliked him just as intently as he had previously. "Whatever," he snapped, turning away.

"Ve, talk to you later, then." The two bastards left the room.

Romano felt a hand on his "bad arm," as he'd come to think of it. Assuming it was England, he turned with a smile on his face and froze when he saw it was a beaming Russia. "Romano, you want to have lunch with me, da?" he said, very quietly. "I've heard that you're experimenting with new sexual partners. I'd be very happy to show you what I can do. I can make it up to you, for breaking your arm that time. I am quite skilled at lovemaking. During those long winter nights in my country it is a very pleasant way to spend the time, da?"

Uh? Romano stood frozen, unable to respond, unable to even wipe the smile from his face or tear his arm out of Russia's grip. All he could think of was the hospital room, with its cold and impassive machinery and implements, and here he was paralyzed in front of the bastard. Dammit!

Still smiling, Russia reached his other hand up towards the hair curl. That broke the spell. Romano jerked his arm out of the other nation's grip and backed away nervously. "N-not anymore," he snapped. "I'm not looking for anyone." Then, because he didn't want to antagonize such a powerful (and possibly malicious) nation, he added more calmly, "Th-thank you, though," before daring to turn his back and find England in the dwindling crowd; his heart was hammering, but he knew he had to make it out of the room without fainting or screaming like some girl.

The blond had his back to the window and was watching with interest. "Are you ready?" he asked, cocking one of his stupid eyebrows. "Bloody boring standing around here waiting."

Romano managed not to blow his stack. He nodded tersely. "Come on, we're wasting time." He stepped out of the room, England at his heels.

The two of them passed without speaking through the hotel, through the lobby, and out onto the street. Romano was fuming, but didn't know what to say; when he peeked at England, the blond bastard was strolling along, matching his stride, but not appearing troubled at all. "Chigi!" he finally exploded. "Why didn't you help me?"

England dropped into a scowl alarmingly fast. "Is that all I am to you? From tour guide to bloody bodyguard?"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard. You know how I feel about him. He terrifies me! He told me he knew about my arm!" Romano had quickened his pace but didn't realize it because England was still keeping up.

"You dealt with it. I don't see why you're mad at me. Just stay out of his reach!" They stalked up to a street vendor together. England pointed out the things he wanted to buy; the vendor began bagging them for him.

"Listen, stupid," and Romano smacked him in the bicep to get his attention, "I was completely scared! Paralyzed! Of all the nations – you know how I feel –" He stopped as the vendor gave England his bag of food; the blond picked up a bottle of water, too. "He's such a big fucker, and I couldn't move, and all I could think about was that goddamn hospital! _He almost touched my hair curl!_" he screeched. That had been the most frightening part of it, for him.

England roared out, "You bloody whiner! You did just fine! Why do you need me to babysit you all the time?"

The street vendor recoiled a little at that, but Romano was already busy making his selections; he didn't know what this shit was, but it looked and smelled quite tasty. "I don't, dammit. Obviously I don't! But you could have helped anyway, you stupid selfish fucker! Yes, some of those, too," he told the vendor, pointing.

"Why did you need me to?" The blond pulled out his wallet and paid. "Thanks," he told the man, before turning back to Romano. "Bloody hell, all you had to do was tell him no, which you did, and it's over!"

"Fuck it. What if he tries again? Did you think of that, you dumbass?" Romano whipped out his own wallet and thrust a bill at the frightened man. "Keep the damn change," he barked, grabbing the bag and his bottle of water. "He's got some kind of crazy grip on me now!"

The two of them stalked off, still walking fast, still angry. "If you hadn't gotten such a stupid reputation," the island nation began.

"Shut the fuck _up!_ People make mistakes, right? Quit lecturing me, you miserable bastard."

"You certainly make your share of mistakes. And now everybody knows it, because you flaunt it all the time."

"Dammit!" Romano stormed over to a park bench and sat down; England plunked his ass down next to him. "Shut up while I eat."

"Someday you're going to regret the way you treat me, you bossy little git."

"Not today, bastard. God, I hate you so much." Romano opened a packet of something. "What the hell is this shit?"

"Deep-fried ant eggs."

"Screw you."

"No thanks."

He growled and ate some of the mystery food. It was deep-fried something, he had to concede. Rice? Peanuts? Some kind of little nut, he guessed. It was crunchy. "Seriously, bastard, what is this?" he pleaded, more earnestly.

"Deep-fried ant eggs!"

Romano kicked him in the calf. "Go _fuck yourself!_ You're the biggest son of a bitch I ever met." But his eyes widened as England drew something out of his bag that looked like a gigantic beetle. "Wh-wh-what the hell is that?" he screeched, scooting to the other end of the bench in horror.

England turned to him with a long-suffering expression before beginning one of his fucking Wikipedia-style lectures. "This is _maeng da_, a deep-fried giant water bug. Thai people consider deep-fried insects to be a delicacy, and it is a popular staple of market stalls. Amongst the various insects they fry are giant water bugs, crickets, ant eggs, termites, and bee larvae."

"Chigi!" Romano knocked his own bag into the grass and kicked it over. "That's disgusting." He hurriedly rinsed his mouth out and spat before taking a few deep swallows to get the food remnants out of his teeth. "Completely disgusting."

"Pick up your trash, wanker."

"Y-you're really serious about these bugs?" He frowned at the one England was still holding, and then bent down to retrieve his spilled bag. Handling it gingerly, he reached over and dropped it straight into a trash can.

"Sure. You have to try the local cuisine, you know. Can't go around looking for bloody pasta Alfredo in the middle of Thailand." He bit the head off the bug; about half remained.

Romano shuddered at the crunching. "Well?"

"It's fine! I've eaten them before. Do you want to try some?" England held out the remaining piece of the giant fried bug.

"I don't want to eat a bug's ass!"

Both of them burst out laughing, all tension gone. "You're a big girl's blouse, Romano," England told him with a grin, finishing the insect, licking his fingers clean. "Take some risks once in a while, will you? Not just with bloody sex all the time."

"Hey, I'm sorry," Romano said, calmer now. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. About Russia, I mean, not about the damn bugs."

"I know, but you're such a baby, it's all I expect from you."

"Bastard!"

But the blond was laughing again. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself. I was actually rather proud of you. You handled it well."

"He did push me, though. That day. He said so, just now."

"What an absolute wanker. Did he say why?"

"Nope. Maybe the bastard didn't even have a real reason. He's just twisted like that."

"Well, stay away from him, that's all."

"Cheh, no shit, moron. Hey, is it" – he was a little nervous to ask this – "would it be all right if I hang out with you for the rest of the week? So he leaves me alone?"

England ate another bug and shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Saves me eating dinner all by myself."

That was a surprise. "You always eat by yourself?"

"Eh, not always, but usually." He ate the back half of a third insect and then screwed up the empty paper into a ball. He tucked it back into the bag, sitting back to drink his water, resting the hand with the bug's head in his lap.

"Why? Why not find somebody to eat with?"

"Pfft. It's easier just to eat alone than make forced conversation with some idiotic git. Ends up being about work all the time anyway, unless I go with Prussia and Denmark, and then we just get bombed."

Romano ignored the comment about those two dumb bastards. "You know, we haven't talked about work lately. I keep trying to talk to my stupid brother about it, and he's such a dumbass…"

"Well? That's fine with me. What do you want to talk about? We could make our dinner a working meal?"

"Maybe. Let me think about it. Somehow I feel like I'd rather just goof off, with you."

"Hah. You mean you don't trust me to give you good advice."

He smirked at his friend. "Something like that, bastard."

"Tosser."

Thinking about dinner, though, Romano now ventured a weak "Uh."

"Uh what? Now what?"

"Do you suppose we could go somewhere more – more normal, for dinner? Where I don't have to eat any goddamn _bugs_?"

…

Romano was drowsy; he struggled to open his eyes. Shit. They'd fallen asleep on the park bench; this time England was slumped onto his lap, with the half-bug dangling from his right hand still. "Hey, bastard," he said quietly, patting him on the shoulder. "Wake up."

"Mm? Oh." England opened his eyes and pushed himself carefully up off Romano's lap. Then he saw the cold, half-eaten insect in his hand and flung it across the park. "Bloody disgusting," he muttered, polishing off the rest of his water in a hurry.

Romano burst out laughing. "Come on, stupid. We should get back."

The blond checked his watch. "Not much point anymore. We'd get there just in time for the meeting to adjourn."

"Well, then? What the hell should we do?"

England rose, dusting off the seat of his trousers before tossing the water bottle in the trash. "Let's go wander. Explore the city. Maybe we can find an Italian restaurant?" He raised those thick eyebrows inquisitively. "Even if not for tonight, maybe we can go there later in the week."

"Any insect-free restaurant will be fine," Romano countered. "You forget I missed lunch. Yeah, what the hell. Let's explore."

…

The two of them had been having a great time together all week. Romano was really rather attentive, now that he wasn't chasing tail all the time. England grinned as the meeting was adjourned on Thursday, wondering where they'd end up for dinner tonight. His friend hurried out of the room – he'd been doing this all week, so he could stay out of Russia's way – but the island nation packed up his things more leisurely.

"Hey, Iggy. _Hey!_" Prussia called from across the room.

"Don't call me Iggy, please. What do you want?"

"Want to go to dinner with me?"

"All right. But why don't you have plans? Where's Denmark? Does he want to come with us?" He looked around but didn't see the git.

"Ah, he's – well, he's been busy." Prussia turned red and flapped his hands towards the door. "Come on, let's go. I don't want to think about it."

"Sure, let's go. All right if Romano joins us? We were going to find a place."

"Fine with me, but you know how he is about me. Can't handle the awesome." Prussia buffed his nails on his uniform.

England laughed and poked him. "Nobody can. He'll deal with it. Do you have a restaurant in mind?"

"Kesesese! Nope. I'll let you choose." They left the room.

The brunet was waiting patiently at the hall corner. "Bastard." He gave Prussia a rather evil look. "Hi."

"Do you mind if this lonely wanker joins us for dinner?"

Romano raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Okay. I want to see him eat a bug." He and England both began snickering.

"Eat a _what?_"

And so, to Romano's overly dramatic explanation about Thai people and their love of deep-fried insects, the three nations left the hotel for some dinner.

…

Romano waited until England had gone to the men's room to ask, "Why are you hanging out with us anyway, bastard?"

Prussia got a shifty look in his eye. "Denmark," he hissed. "He's busy with America now! No time for me anymore. But don't tell Iggy that. I don't want to upset him."

"Denmark and America? That's a fucking bizarre combo."

"Ah, the three of us hang out all the time, because we're all so awesome, but I never thought they'd start dating and leave me out in the cold."

Before Romano could respond, England came back. "What'd I miss, gits?"

"Pfft. Nothing. Just asking why the albino potato had to come along tonight." But he had a lot to think about. Mostly he was just glad that Prussia was thoughtful enough not to blab this news in front of England.

This time Prussia beamed at them. "No real reason. Just felt like spreading some of the awesome."

"Well, spread it somewhere else next time." Romano scowled at the table. He really hadn't wanted the stupid idiot joining them, but apparently the bastard and England were good friends. He didn't want to make England mad at him, so he'd said yes.

Still. He hoped this was _not_ going to be some kind of trend! He didn't want some damn third wheel along at all their dinners and lunches, and he most certainly did not want it to be the albino bastard. Dammit. He'd have to talk to England about this later.

Uh, though, what if he sounded too bossy about it? Romano ate and drank without paying much more attention to the conversation while he thought about this. What if England thought he was being too pushy or arrogant?

Pfft. Fuck it. He'd just have to deal with it. Romano refused to put himself through misery all the time just so England could have one of his other friends along. If those two bastards wanted to go out and eat, Romano would find someone else to spend time with. He really could not handle extended doses of Prussia on a regular basis.

Though it'd be damn depressing to have to stop socializing with England because of this. This week had been so much fun with him. He'd never had a close friend before, just stupid Veneziano and the tomato bastard. Romano was really glad he had a friend, especially now that he wasn't trying to score with every roommate he'd been assigned. (In any case, his roommate this week was the terrified and underage Latvia, so Romano was completely uninterested.) It was really fun to just laugh and goof off with England!

Until some shit like this happened.

Then he realized that no one had spoken for a while, and came out of his daydream. "What? What?"

"Eh, nothing; we're done eating. Are you?"

"Cheh, yes. Sorry. Just – just thinking about some stuff." He drank some water.

"Well? Are you ready to go eat a bug? Kesesese! I will if you will, Romano."

"Chigi!"

"Oh, let's just blow," England laughed, throwing some cash on the table. "If we pass a chap selling bugs, I'll buy, and you two can man up and eat them."

"Fine with me." Prussia rose and flashed Romano a big grin and thumbs-up.

"Gah, will you stop that? You look like – you look idiotic." He looked like America, but Romano didn't want to mention that name in front of England. Shit.

"Yeah, all right." The albino put his arm around England's shoulders. "Come on, lead on to the bugs, Macduff, and Romano and I will eat them."

"Dammit! I never said _I_ was going to eat one of them. I was just telling you that people here _do_ eat them."

"Anyway," England pointed out pedantically, "the correct phrase is _lay on, Macduff_, and it means 'start attacking vigorously.' Nothing to do with leading you there."

Both the others snorted and Prussia poked him in the cheek. "Uptight old man. Lead me to the insects, and I'll start attacking them vigorously with my mouth!"

With a sigh, and a roll of his eyes that only Romano spotted, England led his friends to a street vendor stall.

…

"Wow." Prussia stared at the array of fried insects on display. "I could probably eat some of those little ones, the ones that look like rice, or whatever, but – look at those things!" He pointed to the bowl of _maeng da_ in alarm.

"Bastard, those are the ones that England likes to eat!"

England grinned, looking mischievous. "Bet you each a Euro that you can't eat one_._"

"Kesesese!"

"You stupid bastard." Romano glared at the island nation, which just made him laugh more loudly. Why had he made it into a bet? Dammit, now Romano would have to try and eat one. England must have known he wouldn't back down from a bet. He needed to win back some of his money!

"Too chicken, my awesome friend?" Prussia elbowed him and Romano smacked the pale hand away.

"Chigi! Shut up." He turned to England. "A fucking Euro? You're serious?"

England smirked at him. "Why not? I have plenty."

Romano narrowed his eyes. Oh, that bastard was going to hear about this, when they got away from Prussia.

"Hey, Iggy, if you pay me a Euro per bug, I'll eat a whole bunch! I need the cash."

The smirk changed to a snarl. "Listen, git, stop calling me Iggy, all right? Please?"

Oh yeah. That's what the stupid burger bastard used to call him. Romano elbowed Prussia wordlessly.

"Oh? Uh? S-sure, England, or, you know, I could call you the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, if you like." He tried out an acronym. "UKOGBANI? Kesesese! That's a tough one to say."

"Don't be an ass," Romano cautioned him. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said, _ever._ A-and don't take him to the cleaners. One bug, one Euro, that's it."

"Spoilsport." But Prussia nodded and pointed to the bowl of _maeng da_, holding up one finger. The vendor grinned as he wrapped a single large insect in paper and handed it to the albino.

"You too, Romano?" England asked cheekily.

"Dammit. All right." Fuck, that bastard was going to _pay!_ He held up one finger and the vendor wrapped another one. Shit, it looked like he'd picked out the biggest damn bug in the bowl! England paid and the three of them moved off down the street.

"Wait. I need a bottle of water." Romano hurried back and bought one. He'd need to brush his teeth as soon as he got back to the hotel, too. "Okay," he said, returning to his friends, who were standing under a street lamp.

Prussia unwrapped his packet and stood staring doubtfully at the fried insect. "How long do I have to keep it down?" he then laughed. "I know I can choke it down, especially if Romano shares his water with me." He waggled the white eyebrows. "But I'm not making any promises about whether it'll stay down or not. It's pretty disgusting."

"Damn you," Romano growled. "That's gross and just what I'd expect from you. Just for that, no water."

"What? Man, you're harsh."

But England was simply leaning against the lamppost, watching their by-play. "Do it, or don't do it. I don't really care."

Of course he cared. Romano knew that smirk very well by now, and he knew England was trying to goad him into eating the fucking thing. "Fine," he snapped, unwrapping his packet and biting the head off in one quick movement. Hah! See? He could totally do this.

And then he realized he was _chewing on the head of a beetle,_ and he dropped the ass end of it in the grass and poured water down his throat as quickly as he could. Jesus, he hoped his stomach acids were in top form tonight and would get rid of that revolting mess. "Shit." He rinsed and spat into the grass.

"You forfeit," Prussia laughed, nudging the remains of the fallen bug with his boot.

"Never mind me, stupid," he growled, swigging more water and smacking a Euro into England's hand. "Your go."

"Your go, Prussia," England agreed, handing Romano his handkerchief so he could wipe his mouth.

Prussia picked up the thing. He scrutinized it from all angles. "I – I'm not sure."

"Why are you two such babies about this? If Romano hadn't dropped the other one in the grass I'd eat it just to show you it's not a big deal!" The island nation raised a fearsome eyebrow. "Get on with it. I don't want to stand around all night watching you two piss about."

"Fine." The albino popped the entire bug into his mouth. Romano had expected him to try to swallow it whole, or beg for the water bottle, or something, but instead, Prussia very slowly and cheerfully chewed and chewed, eyes wide, until he was able to swallow, and then he bared his teeth in a scary grin at them. "Done! One Euro, my awesome friend."

England forked over the Euro. "Well done. Knock it off with the Awesome Grin; you're scaring Romano."

Impressed despite himself, Romano gave him the rest of the water. "Here. You earned it, stupid."

"Well? What do you gits want to do now?" England pushed himself up off the street lamp. "Bar?"

"Sounds good to me! I have to drink something strong to get the bug bits out of my teeth! Kesesese!"

Dammit. But a couple shots of Scotch ought to do the trick. Romano nodded agreement and the three of them headed towards the nearest bar.

…

Once they were seated in first class for the return flight, Romano turned to his friend with a big smile on his face. "This was an awesome week, bastard. _Awesome._"

England had to agree. Yes, he knew exactly what his friend meant, but decided to tease him a little. "I know. Thailand is such an effective meeting host."

Romano's face dropped quickly into the scowl he so often wore. "Stupid. That wasn't what I meant."

"Sorry. I know. Just teasing. I – I had a lot of fun with you this week, too." He took Romano's hand and gave it a brief squeeze.

And when Romano squeezed back, England knew they'd continue having fun together in the future, too.


	25. Chapter 25

"Ve, Romano, open the oven, will you?"

The two Italies bustled around Romano's kitchen, making an elaborate dinner. The stupid potato bastard had to go somewhere else tonight, so Veneziano had phoned up and begged his older brother to hang out with him. Well, Romano didn't mind so much when Germany wasn't with them, so he'd said yes, as long as his _fratello_ came to Rome instead of making him travel north.

He opened the oven for Veneziano, who slid his dish inside. "Thanks for coming over," he told his little brother. "Makes a nice change of pace." And it did. Yes, the idiot was – was an idiot, he thought in irritation, rubbing his hand over his face, but at least they got along and he didn't have to worry about too much stupid shit. Romano went back to getting the ingredients for the zabaglione.

Veneziano was now done preparing the main course, so he washed and dried his hands. "Need me to do anything to help you, ve?"

"Set the table," Romano told him, focusing on the dessert. "Slice some bread, too, if you have time."

"Okie dokie!" He went to the cupboard. "Ve, you know, Romano, I was a little worried about you when you and Spain broke up. You didn't seem too happy! We haven't really had a chance to talk about it much, ve, but Germany and I were both pretty worried at first."

Romano just grunted; he didn't want to talk about this shit, because he needed to pay attention to what he was doing!

"But it looks like everything's turning out all right, ve. I'm glad to see you are much more relaxed nowadays!" Veneziano beamed, but his brother still didn't see. He finished setting the table without further commentary and then went out of the room for something. Romano kept working.

When he looked up his brother was gone. Where was the idiot? Stuff needed to be done! "Oi!" he called out, and Veneziano came running. "Okay, this is almost done. Is the table ready?"

"Yes, ve. Would you like me to pour some wine?"

Romano smiled at him. "Sure, _fratello._ Let's share some wine."

Veneziano picked out something from the wine shelf. "Ve, this one looks good. I haven't tried it yet. Is this one all right with you?" He flashed the label at Romano.

"Of course it is! Why would I have it in my kitchen if I didn't like it? Honestly, you can be such a dope sometimes."

"Oh, relax a little, will you, ve?"

This reminded Romano of his brother's earlier comment. "Anyway, yeah, things aren't so bad without Spain. They – they're actually better," he realized. "I mean, I'm focusing on the real world now, you know? Not floating along in a – a romantic haze, or whatever." Shit, that sounded stupid, and it was exactly what Veneziano did. Now the idiot would get angry with him, and –

"Ve, it's not for everyone, I admit," the idiot said cheerfully, pouring the wine. "I'm just so lucky Germany and I get along so well!"

Dammit. "Shut up about that. I don't really want to talk about dating and all that shit."

"But you're not dating anyone now, right? I saw you with America a while ago, but that didn't work out?" Veneziano's tone was calm and delicate, and it lured Romano into answering.

"N-no, it didn't work out. He's –" Romano stopped himself. He'd been about to launch into some nasty gossip about the stupid hero bastard, but that wasn't right. It wasn't right to kiss and tell. "He's not for me," he concluded lamely. "That's all."

"Ve, yes, well, either you'll find someone, or you won't!"

His idiot _fratello_ sounded much too happy talking about this. "Shut up and eat, moron_." _

"No need to call me names, Romano. Ve, let's eat!"

They ate for a while in silence, but of course Veneziano couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I saw you with Prussia at the last meeting. I'm glad you're friends with him, ve, because he gets so lonely. He's always trying to tag along on our dates, which is pretty awkward!" He sighed happily. "Ve, Romano, wouldn't it be nice if you and Prussia –"

Romano dropped his fork with a clatter. "Just stop right there!" he exploded. "Do not even _think_ about it. I refuse to ever consider dating that idiotic, self-centered, so-called-awesome, loud, annoying, show-off, gloating, bug-chomping bastard!" Dammit, he was certainly glad he'd never ended up with Prussia for a fucking roommate. Sex with that potato brain would be absolutely impossible. _Impossible!_

Veneziano drew back in amazement. "Ve," was all he said, very quietly, with a little smile. Then, more puzzled: "Bug-chomping?"

But Romano ignored that and picked up his fork, angrily stabbing the pasta. There was another long silence.

"You know, ve, I think I understand what's going on here, Romano."

"What? What the fuck are you talking about now?"

"I mean that you're yelling at me about Prussia because deep down inside, you really want to be _with_ –"

"God _damn it!_" Romano threw the salt shaker at his brother's head; Veneziano ducked and it hit the wall, where the lid fell off and salt sprayed everywhere. "Dammit. Look. Shut up," he sighed, getting up to clean up the mess. "Shut up about dating, and the stupid albino potato and his stupid macho brother, and me, and everything else. Okay? Talk about music, or cinema, or fashion" (this reminded him of England and cross-dressing, and he snorted) "or architecture, or whatever, but none of that other shit. Got it?" By now the last of the spilled salt had been cleaned, and he set the empty shaker and lid on the counter before coming back to his seat. "Got that?"

"Got it, ve," his _fratello_ said sadly.

…

Finally, _finally_ the stupid blabbermouth had left. Romano leaned against the front door and blew his breath out. Where did Veneziano get all that energy? It had been a nonstop chatfest. Luckily he'd stuck to the accepted topics (and Romano now knew more than he'd ever wanted to know about fashion and fucking German architecture), but it had still been pretty tedious to listen to him jaw all night and pretend to be interested.

He sighed once more. Romano now had to admit that he was very happy his _fratello_ was dating the macho potato. Because if he wasn't, he'd be over here making a pest of himself _all the time!_ "Dammit," he muttered, going back to the kitchen for a calming glass of wine. Boy, was he glad those two had each other.

…

When he woke up in the morning he cursed his idiot brother to the depths of the ninth hell, because he'd spent all night having nightmares about stupid Prussia chasing him, blowing kisses from the back of a giant albino bug!


	26. Chapter 26

_Are we flying first class together?_ England sent this in an email. The upcoming meeting, in two weeks, would take place in Sydney, another long flight. He hoped Romano would say yes. The island nation had been pushing himself to work hard, and he looked forward to another long, cozy flight with his friend before a grueling week of meetings.

But a few hours later, after cleaning his kitchen, vacuuming, and bringing in a few branches laden with rowan berries to put in the big vase, he checked his email and found Romano's apologetic response. _Sorry, I can't. With the end of the year coming up, I've got to watch the finances. I'll be flying coach. I am sorry. But I'm looking forward to spending time with you there, bastard._

Bugger. Should he offer to help pay? No. Romano was such a touchy git he'd probably throw a fit. Well, at least they could have fun together at the meeting. He made a pot of tea and booked his flight.

…

The following day he was startled by a violent knocking at the front door. Who –? Oh, with that kind of hammering it was probably blasted America. As England walked to the door he wondered just what brought the git over here, and how soon he could get rid of him.

But to his surprise it was France, bearing his usual rose, and grinning from ear to ear like a shark with a plan. "Good morning," the island nation said, trying to be polite.

"Ah, _cher Angleterre,_ the world is beautiful, and I am beautiful, and even your eyebrows are beautiful on this glorious autumn day!" He brandished the rose, and the astonished England stood back to allow him entry. What in the world could have gotten into the wanker?

"Come into the parlor," he invited. "Tell me what the bloody hell's got you so – so inflated, today."

"_Oui._" France tripped along beside him, beaming at everything, even the cracks in the plaster. Hmm. England needed to spruce the place up a bit.

Inside the parlor the frog swept into a bow and then drew England close for an abrupt kiss on the lips, over so quickly that it barely registered. "Will you tell me what's going on?" he demanded. "Why are you here? Why are you acting so bloody annoying?" He plopped down into his favorite chair, but France stayed standing, twirling dramatically around the room, his cape and beautiful long hair flowing behind him.

"_Mon ami_, I am in love!" He delivered this line with the maximum of import, and yet, the only thing England could manage in response was a snort. "_Angleterre,_ I'm tired of your cynicism. Don't you believe that I could be in love?"

"Yes, yes, all right, git, but – you're always falling in love! Who is it this time?"

"Well, you know that Spain and Romano have broken up, _oui_?"

England's heart went cold. The frog and Romano –? "Er?" he managed to croak out.

France continued declaiming. "My beloved _Espagne_ has come back to me! Ah, I love that man," he sighed, kissing the rose and smiling at it.

This took several seconds to get through the island nation's brain, and when it did, he was unaware of the release of tension in his hands where they'd been gripping the arms of the chair. "You – you and Spain?" he asked, knowing he sounded idiotic. He cleared his throat.

France turned back to him, spinning on the spot, and then kissed the rose one more time, tossing it at England, who reflexively caught it. "_Oui!"_

"So why are you here? Why not with the wanker today?" He fingered the rose absently before laying it on a side table.

"Ah, he's coming for dinner later, _mon cher_, but I had some time to kill and so I thought I'd come see you. Oh, he doesn't know we're in love yet, but he will, after tonight!" France bent down, cupped England's cheeks in his hands, and kissed him again.

"Argh! Listen, git, if you're so in love with him, why are you over here kissing me?" He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and got up out of the chair.

"Well, I need to do something," the frog considered. "I thought I'd visit you, and share some of the love!"

"Fine, consider it shared." He scowled and crossed his arms. "And stop kissing me!"

"Oh, you sour thing. Kissing is beneficial! Look!" He swooped in and kissed the island nation one more time.

"Get off!" England pushed him away. "Seriously, stop with all this bloody kissing." Then a little thought popped into his head. He felt bad about doing this – letting the side down – but it would undoubtedly get rid of the love-crazed batrachian. "Today's baking day. I'm going to bake some scones. Would you like to stay, and help me make them? Then we can have a cream tea together, afterwards." He gave Francy-pants his best sweet and appealing smile, as though nothing in the world meant more to him than that nation's company in the kitchen.

"Well…"

"You can even take some home to share with Spain later!" he added desperately, hoping this would clinch the deal.

It worked. "Ah, _Angleterre_, sorry, but I don't have time for that. Have to get home and make myself beautiful," he crooned, stroking the beard.

"Oh, don't bother. You're beautiful enough. Stay and help me bake?" Bollocks, that had probably been overdoing it. He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"_Non, mon ami_, thank you for the offer, but I'm going to head for home and get ready. Thank you for everything," France trilled, kissing England one more time.

Who cared? England would suffer the kisses, if only the frog was on his way out the door.

And apparently he was. He practically skipped to the door. "Tonight the world will be full of romance, _Angleterre._ If you have anyone you wish to conquer, you will have quite a lot of luck tonight." He paused, eyebrows raised delicately. "How's America, by the way?"

This faux-nonchalant afterthought enraged the island nation, and he shoved the wanker out the open front door. "Get out of here! Go see Spain, and don't ever leave his side again!" He slammed the door shut to the sound of France's tinkling laughter, hearing it fade as the romantic nation danced his way down the street.

Whew. England stood with his back to the door, wiping his brow. That was dramatic, entertaining, and – and bloody pointless! He stalked back to the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for baking scones. _Someone he wanted to conquer._ He snorted. What a load of old balls.

…

_Thanks to kastiyana for introducing me to the word "batrachian" in her Engmano story "Ouroboros."_


	27. Chapter 27

France knew he had to be careful around Spain. He didn't want his beloved to hook up with him just as a rebound from little Romano, and he didn't want to be too forward. But he loved Spain! They had always been so close, and when Spain had become Romano's lover, he'd retreated more and more, so that France barely ever saw him. Knowing his old friend was happy meant it hadn't bothered the bearded nation too much. Although there had occasionally been lonely nights when the other Allies were driving him mad, or during long periods of economic reconstruction, when he could have used the soothing embrace of a lover to help him through them. Those sorts of things always drained him.

But now he had his chance! Spain was going to join him at home tonight. France was making it a low-key evening, just dinner, conversation, and perhaps a romantic stroll through Paris. Paris was always good for that sort of thing. He checked his reflection in the mirror once more, winking at it and blowing a kiss, and then the doorbell rang and all his careful preparations fell to pieces as his excitement level went through the roof.

He scrambled to the front door. "My dearest friend," he crooned, and oh, Spain looked fantastic in the moonlight…absence did make the heart grow fonder, France realized, pulling the brunet into the house.

"_Francia_," Spain sighed, smiling shyly and extending a carnation to him. "I know this is not a rose, but it is the flower of my country."

France took the carnation delicately and led his friend inside. "No flower can compare with your beauty, _Espagne._"

Spain gave him a very wobbly smile, and they went into the dining room together.

…

Bulgaria was very lonely tonight. Estonia and he had agreed to spend this weekend apart, taking care of things that needed doing at home, but even though the Balkan nation had a pile of work to do, he felt so lonely and wished that Estonia were here with him. Even doing the work would be acceptable, with his lover by his side. He stopped sweeping, gripping his old broom tightly, and gazed out the window at the moon with longing. Was Estonia looking at it too? Oh, how he missed him. Should he call? No. The Baltic nation had work to do, too, and wouldn't appreciate the interruption.

After a few minutes he realized the house wasn't going to clean itself. Bulgaria sighed and began sweeping once more, and the telephone rang. "Hello?" he answered, wearily.

Estonia's voice was breathless. "Bulgaria, I want to see you tonight," he murmured. "Can you skip your work? I just have this incredible desire for us to be together. I know we just saw each other yesterday, but –"

"I'll be right over!" Bulgaria yelled with glee, dropping the phone and the broom, and running out the door.

…

In Atlantic City, Denmark and America wandered, sometimes holding hands, sometimes breaking apart to admire the ocean, the sky, the casinos, each other! "Man, I really want to go gamble. Come on, and with you by my side I'll win a bazillion bucks, I know it." America hugged Denmark and popped a little kiss on his cheek.

Den laughed and ruffled the blond hair. "Fine. Split your winnings with me."

"Will do, hot stuff. Come on!" America took his hand and yanked him along to Caesar's Palace. Wow, he was so full of energy and love! What a great night, with a great nation by his side. The hero was so thankful to Romano for being a dick and landing him with Denmark that night in the Warsaw hotel. Briefly, while checking out the moonlight on the casino, he hoped that Romano would find someone to make him happy, too.

…

England paced around his home, feeling irritable. Even the fresh scones and tea didn't cheer him. He wandered around the downstairs of his spacious townhouse, and the clear night sky, peeking through a gap in his kitchen curtains, caught his eye. He moved to push the fabric aside and the bright, beautiful moon mesmerized him.

It wasn't that he wished Francy-pants ill. Of course not. No, he was happy for him. But it had been like a curse, that comment of his; England's romantic soul was overflowing and he had no one to share it with. He stood at the window for a long time, watching the moon and the stars, wondering if he would ever find love again.

Several times he caught himself glancing at the phone, to ring America, but his common sense always stopped him. He knew that it wasn't America himself he wanted. That he'd despise himself for getting back with the 'hero' just to fill that slot in his heart. And, blast it all, the only nation he knew he could call on for no-strings-attached romance was France! That was obviously out of the question tonight.

Maybe some computer time would take his mind off all this. He made up a tray with tea and scones and headed to the machine. Right now he didn't even trust himself to drink ale. He'd end up a sodden, lonely, weeping mess, if he did. He'd fight it, and stay strong.

Stock exchange – South American government problems – housing crises – none of these news feeds were interesting enough to keep his mind from wandering, keep his lonely heart from aching. Instead, he decided to go out for a walk somewhere, and hopefully take his mind off all this.

Damn that bloody frog.

…

Germany embraced Veneziano on the deck of his home. "I am glad we persuaded Prussia to go out tonight," he said quietly. "It has been a long time since I've felt so open about my love for you." He leaned close and cupped his young friend's face in one hand, kissing him gently. "I'm so pleased that you're a part of my life, Italy."

"Ve." Veneziano nestled closer. "Me too, Germany. I would never reproach you for a lack of affection, though. I know you love me!"

Germany leaned forward and kissed him again. "Somehow tonight seems more special than usual, _mein Schatz._ Shall we sit down?" He gestured to a wide cushioned wicker bench seat.

"Oh, yes, ve. I want to cuddle up to you!" Veneziano peered up at the sky. "It's such a pretty moon tonight."

"It does not signify, Italy. I will always be true to you, whether we have a 'pretty moon' watching over us, or not."

"_Veee~…"_

…

Romano was sunk deep in misery. He felt restless and cross, and had no idea why. The day had been fairly basic: some cleaning, a siesta, a phone call from his _fratello,_ who had a date with the stupid macho potato tonight. Typical for a Saturday. So why was he so frustrated tonight, all of a sudden?

He tried to watch some television, tried to read a novel, cooked his dinner and ate it, alone in his big dining room. Dammit! Nothing made him feel right. In the kitchen afterwards, he twitched the curtains aside to see if anything was happening. All was quiet; there was a beautiful moon hanging in the sky over Rome. As he watched it, his heart began to ache, and he began to feel lonely and sorry for himself.

This pissed him off so much he kicked a cabinet, and then the doorbell rang.

Who could it be? Not Spain, he knew. That nation was off to France's for the night. They'd had a short phone call earlier, during which Spain had thanked him, over and over, for suggesting he go see France. Well, good for the bastards, he'd thought, but now – who could be ringing the doorbell? Not the two of them together, he hoped. He _really_ hoped that!

He opened the door, took one look, and slammed it shut again. Dammit.

"Come on, Romano, let me in. It's such a nice night, and I know you'd be happy to spend time with me, kesesese!"

Stupid,_ stupid_ Veneziano! He'd just bet this was some transparent ploy of the moron's, still pushing the Prussia angle. "Go away," he growled from behind the door.

There was a little silence. Had the bastard left? Romano used the peephole and saw Prussia still standing on the porch with that stupid grin of his. This made him angry, and he opened the door again. "I'm not going to date you," he blurted out, frowning at that face, whiter than usual in the moonlight.

"What? I don't want to _date_ you!" Prussia looked extremely confused. Then he slid back into that stupid grin. "I mean, I can totally understand why you'd think about going out with me, but –"

Slam.

"Come on, Romano, open _up!_ I just came over to shoot the shit with you, since everybody else is busy."

"'Everybody else' who?" the brunet demanded, without opening the door. Dammit, were they really the only two nations without Saturday night plans? Shit. How fucking low he'd sunk.

"Everybody! France, and Spain, and Denmark, and America, and of course West with your brother…I need company. Open the door."

Of course all those stupid bastards would have plans. "Denmark and America still at it, huh?" he asked, as he opened the door. "Okay, listen. Come in. You can stay for an hour. One hour! All right? One hour, and then you have to go. You know I can't deal with you longer than that."

"Can't handle the awesome," Prussia agreed with a grin, blowing him a kiss and striding inside.

"Dammit, that just proves my point." He shut the door and walked ahead of his unwanted guest to the living room. "That's seriously why you're here? Why didn't you call first, bastard?"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "As if. You know if I called first you'd tell me not to come over."

"I know! So?"

"So then I still wouldn't have any place to be tonight." He flopped down on Romano's sofa. "West kicked me out because he wanted to get all lovey with your brother. Really, my only other option was Swissy, and I'm just not in the mood to deal with all that. Last time I dropped in on him, he shot at me. Missed, of course; I'm just that awesome, but still. Not fun to be shot at."

Intrigued despite himself, Romano sat in a chair and continued the discussion. "Doesn't he have plans with Austria?"

"Pfft. No. Austria's back with Hungary, and Swissy's out in the cold. Kind of like me, with Den and America," Prussia mused, leaning back and getting comfortable. "Who have I got left to pester, kesesese?"

"Well, me, obviously, you moron. Wait, though. Wait a minute. I don't get this. Denmark was dating Norway for, well, forever! You didn't bitch about him then, or go around pestering people, but he was out on dates with Norway, right?" Romano assumed so. He wasn't too familiar with the Nordics. "So you would have been alone just as often."

"Yeah, but Norway understands the value of apart time."

The half-nation snorted.

"No, Romano, I'm serious. Norway understood there were times when Den would want to do stuff with other nations, and he was cool with that. But America – well, he's clueless, everybody knows that, and then, too, Denmark is so excited to be dating him – because America's a guy who likes to do guy stuff – that Den is being a total romantic idiot about it too, at least for now. So neither one of them wants to do anything except with each other."

"Yeah, I get it," though he really didn't. Then another thought occurred to him. "Wh-what about E-England? Isn't he some good buddy friend of yours?" Dammit, he wished it had been the blond bastard at the door, and not the stupid albino potato. That would have been a _lot_ more fun. A lot! He almost missed the idiot's answer while he thought about that.

"Yeah, he's a good friend. I didn't think about calling him, though. I forget about him a lot. Guess it's 'cause Britain's so far away from the mainland."

Typical self-centered bullshit. Prussia was just too fucking lazy to remember his friends, so instead he came to bother Romano. What a total bastard. "Want some coffee? Espresso?" Might as well make the best of this, try to be polite.

"Beer?"

"You're an idiot. You think I keep that garbage in the house? No, and I wouldn't give you liquor anyway. I don't want you passing out in my house! One hour, remember, which means you've got" – he checked the clock – "forty-three minutes left." Romano ground his teeth together. He hoped the stupid idiot would leave when the hour was up.

"Aw, you are really harsh, man. It's not like everyone's beating down your door to socialize! Veneziano told me you were lonely, so I thought we could at least hang out for a while. But, if you're going to be pissy about it –"

"Oh, shut up. Do you want coffee or not?"

Prussia shrugged. "Sure. Want me to help make it?"

"Pfft. No. Just sit and relax; I'll be right out." Romano escaped to the kitchen. Dammit, what a lousy way to spend Saturday night. The irritability he'd felt earlier had been increased a thousandfold by this new development. He started the coffeemaker and scowled out the window at that glorious moon.

Prussia had forgotten about England. What a stupid, selfish, lazy bastard that albino was. Romano wondered if the island nation was all alone tonight, or maybe some unsuspecting bastard had swooped into London to make _his_ life miserable. Dammit. Sometimes it was all too much to deal with.

He took the coffee into the living room, where Prussia was waiting, and prepared for thirty-seven more minutes of agonizing conversation.

…

"It's totes romantic out there, Liet. Check out that big old moon! Wanna, like, go for a walk?"

"I don't mind, if you want to." Lithuania slipped his shoes on and grabbed their coats, his a serviceable grey, and Poland's a wild faux fur leopard print. "Come here and put your coat on, Poland! You don't want to catch a cold!"

"Like, no way. I get totally snotty and grody when I'm sick. You wouldn't like me when I'm sick," he teased, waggling a finger under his friend's nose.

"I know how you get, silly. But – but I would still like you," Lithuania confessed, as they went outdoors in the cool evening air together. "I like you no matter what." He took Poland's hand and they wandered down the front path.

"Aw. My little loving Liet. You're so totally adorable!" Poland pinched his cheek mischievously, and Lithuania rolled his eyes. But it was a beautiful night, well worth suffering some of his friend's goofy mannerisms. He lifted Poland's hand and kissed it, and the blond squealed before hugging his arm. "Totes romantic, sweetie-pie. Love, love, looooove ya!"

"Love you too," Lithuania whispered, hugging him. "Always."

…

Two hours later (Romano had softened), Prussia decided to head for home. "Hey, thanks," he grinned, patting the exhausted brunet on the shoulder. "Thanks for letting me hang out with you."

"No problem" was the spoken answer, but it actually had been quite a bit of a struggle for Romano. He still felt that ache in his heart, and hadn't really wanted to bother socializing with anyone, let alone the stupid albino potato. He'd forced himself to be a reasonable host, though, knowing it would be over soon. "Take care. See you in Sydney."

"Kesesese! I'm going home to spy on your brother and West. Want to come with me? It really gets them mad when I let them know what I'm doing. I'm an awesome strategist, you know. Come on! It'll be fun."

"Pfft. No. I'm tired, and want to get to bed." Not to mention he didn't want the damn macho potato catching him and punishing him! "M-maybe some other time."

"Okay, well, see ya!" Prussia waved as he went down the steps of the front porch, and Romano closed the heavy wooden door.

Why did he feel so damn pathetic tonight? Just because he'd been saddled with Prussia while everybody else was out having fun? No, he remembered; he'd felt out of sorts all afternoon, even before the bastard had arrived. Shit. Maybe he should check his emails or something. Read some news feeds. Something to jerk himself out of this misery. Maybe it was his biorhythms, or something.

He made a new cup of espresso and walked to the desk. "Chigi!" There was nothing interesting on the whole fucking internet. Not a thing! What was the point of the damn thing? He got up and paced angrily around the lower level of his home, while his drink grew cold.

After another hour of pointless introspection, when he realized he was in danger of wearing a hole in the carpet, he powered off the computer and slouched off to bed. Dammit_._

…

"_Espagne,_ I'm so glad you called me," France murmured into his beloved's warm, dark hair. They stood in the shadows of the Eiffel Tower, nestling close and relaxing together while they waited for the sunrise. "I've missed you so much."

Spain sighed happily. "I didn't realize how much I'd missed you until Romano suggested you could help me. I'm sorry I neglected you for so long. I should have looked after you, even if I thought I was in love with him."

"Don't worry about it, about him, nothing, any longer." France combed his fingers through that hair. "I'm just so happy to be with you again. I'll take care of you."

"_Sí._ As I will for you, _Francia_." They shared a chaste kiss just as the sun crested the horizon.

France grinned at the sight, hugging Spain more tightly, and hoped that all the nations of the world had been as happy and as lucky as they had been, tonight.


	28. Chapter 28

The island nation always got a bit nostalgic when he came to Australia. This time he was rooming with Norway, who was still apparently separated from Denmark (England didn't ask about it). But he liked Norway, who was the least inquisitive nation he knew. The two of them spent a quiet evening talking or working on things. England hadn't seen Romano this evening, but figured they'd catch up during their lunch date tomorrow.

In the morning he felt strangely optimistic. He bounced around the room, nearly humming, as he dressed carefully in his standard uniform. Well, of course he was feeling good. He liked Sydney and he was happy to be able to spend time with Romano after all that intense work at home. He just hoped the wanker wasn't back onto his insane sex quest again.

Australia stopped him as he entered the meeting room. "G'day. Can I get you to do me a favor?"

England sighed. "Sure." He always felt obliged to help out his former colonies.

"I just need some numbers crunched before the afternoon session." Australia detailed the project and named a few research websites. "Maybe you can take care of it this morning? Feel free to sit in the back and ignore the rest of the meeting. I won't pester you about it."

"Yeah, all right. No worries."

"Thanks, mate." The host patted him on the shoulder and went to the lobby while England pushed into the room.

Romano stood right before him, looking for a seat. "Hey!" England said, nudging him with his elbow. He was so glad to see the brunet he almost hugged him, but didn't want these other wankers making any commentary, so he didn't.

The half-nation turned, grinning. "How are you, ritzy first-class bastard?"

"Fine. Well, no. Miserable, actually. Life's been bloody annoying, and I've really been looking forward to the meeting, so we could spend time together. Let's go sit in the back."

They made their way towards the rear of the room. "Why do we have to sit back here, bastard?"

"Have to do some things for Australia before the afternoon session." He opened his laptop, as did Romano.

"Send me an email once in a while."

England raised his eyebrows. "Why? You're sitting right next to me."

"I know, stupid, but if we sit here whispering then Australia's going to get pissed off, and I don't want him sending that damn koala bear back here to tear my fucking face off."

"I'm going to pay attention to the work I have to do."

"I know it." Romano sighed. "Guess I'll pay attention to the meeting, and then I can clue you in at lunch."

"Thanks. Sorry."

"Ah, forget it, bastard, just do what you have to do."

But England couldn't focus on the work Australia wanted. He daydreamed; he listened to Romano's sarcastic whispered commentary about other nations, he did send him some goofy emails and read with a snicker the responses his friend sent. Australia didn't have the presenting flair that Thailand had shown, although he wasn't as bad as Romania; England's attention wandered from one thing to the next and he barely got any work done.

The host finally called for the lunch break; Romano poked England in the arm. "Where are we going for lunch?" He stood and stretched, closing his laptop.

"Bollocks. Can't. I've been too inattentive, and I didn't get much of this shite done." He hoped his friend wouldn't explode, at that. "Sorry."

Not only did Romano not explode, he sat back down. "Can I do anything to help? Or, or maybe I can go to the hotel restaurant and bring something back for you?"

England smiled. "That's really nice of you, considering you're the git who kept me from working. Thank you. Yeah, if you can let me focus on the work, that'd be great. I can eat and work at the same time. Then I'll be free for dinner, unless you have some other plans."

"Nope. Kept my calendar free for dinner with you. Give me some money." Romano held out his hand with a laugh.

"Wanker. I should have known this was some kind of con." But he pulled out his wallet and gave Romano enough money for two lunches. "Just get something plain, okay? Something I can pick up and eat without looking, chicken wings, sandwich, something like that, nothing with sauce. Nothing to drink, because there's still tea here."

"Right, get to work. I don't want to be stuck sitting around here all night, too." Romano patted him on the shoulder and hurried out of the room.

…

"Well? What do you want to do?" England rose and stretched; they waited for the room to clear out. "Dinner? Bar? Movie?"

"What the fuck, let's just walk, if you don't mind? I feel kind of, uh, I don't even know. Restless? Let's just go out together and see where we end up."

"Okay. Let me go put this rubbish in my room."

"Meet you in the lobby, then, bastard." He ran up the several flights of stairs, nearly colliding with the albino potato on the landing. "Dammit!"

"Hey, Romano. No time to chat! Den finally wants to go to dinner with me!"

"Good for you, bastard. Hurry up before he changes his mind."

"Kesesese! Okay. Talk to you later, my awesome friend." Prussia ran down the stairs.

Romano snorted as he went back into his hotel room. 'Awesome friend.' They were barely acquaintances, let alone friends, let alone _awesome_ friends. He hurriedly changed into his casual clothes, wondering whether there might be trouble between Denmark and America. He just hoped no bastards would join them for dinner. He wanted to spend some time catching up with England after all this time; he'd missed him, a lot, and was happy they could be with each other again.

…

England had suggested they eat at a little Italian place they'd found. Although he'd agreed, Romano had pointed out quite a few reasons why this wasn't 'authentic Italian cuisine' as claimed. But it wasn't a big deal. It was good enough for the island nation. He ate a lot of pasta, and they had fun sharing news.

Afterwards, outside, it was still quite light out. "Let's go get a drink or something."

"I don't mind, bastard. It feels too stupid to go back to the hotel when it's this sunny out." They walked off together.

"I heard the frog's dating Spain," England offered, just for something to talk about.

"Yeah! Wh-when we broke up, I told him to go see the pervert, and I guess he did."

"Francy-pants certainly seems happy about it." He told Romano the story about France coming over and being a drama queen about his date, trying to make it even more entertaining than it really was. Didn't tell Romano about the kisses, though. That part was downright embarrassing!

Romano shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "Boy, that was a sucky night, if it's the one I'm thinking of. Stupid Prussia came over and pestered me all night."

England gave him a funny look. "What for?" He hadn't known Romano and Prussia were actual friends.

"Ah, the potato bastard kicked him out, and he said he didn't have anywhere else to go, because he was afraid Switzerland would shoot him."

The blond shrugged. "Whatever. Prussia's always doing idiotic rubbish, and Switzerland's always trying to shoot him." Lucky Romano, though; at least he'd had someone to talk to, on that miserable night.

"Switzerland needs to go into deep analysis."

"Forget him." England gestured to a little corner bar. "I like this place. Okay with you?"

"Fine by me, idiot; I don't know my way around Sydney."

The friends entered the bar. It was very little, having only about ten booths and ten stools at the bar itself. The barman nodded to them as they entered.

"Kesesese! Hey, guys!" they heard.

Both of them turned to see Prussia at a booth with the laughing Denmark, grinning like a fool and waving a beer bottle around. "Dammit. Did you pick this place on purpose, bastard?"

"No, but we might as well sit with them. Be too rude otherwise."

"Yeah, all right." Romano rubbed a hand over his face and they crossed to the other nations.

England slid into the booth next to Denmark. He wasn't sure how Romano felt about the Viking; probably embarrassed, since their only interaction had been that night of switching hotel rooms. On the other hand, what the hell did England know? Maybe Romano was hanging out with all the nations of the world when they weren't at meetings. "Gits," he greeted his friends.

"This is a great little place! Nice and quiet," Prussia nodded, elbowing Romano. "Good to see you two."

"You and America break up?" Romano blurted to Denmark, before turning red and hiding his face in his hands. "Oops."

Den and America? England scowled at his friend. Romano must be dreaming. Where the hell had he gotten that idea?

But – "Sort of. We're taking a time out. I can't be bothered to haul my ass across the Atlantic all the time, and he's too fucking lazy to come to Europe." Denmark turned to England. "How the hell did you stand it for so long?"

England was still reeling from the idea of those two dating. Romano must have seen this, because he changed the subject abruptly. "What are you bastards drinking? Here," he said, handing the island nation some cash. "Go get us some drinks."

"Bloody Mary, yeah?" he asked, rising automatically and taking the money.

"Yeah. I'm guessing beer for you two bastards?"

"Kesesese!" Both of them flashed their labels at England, who went to the bar with a shrug.

So. Denmark and America! How bizarre. And Romano's ploy had been so bloody obvious. Maybe he'd give him shit about it later. Hah. What a transparent little wanker.

When he got back to the table, the other three were sitting with their hands folded, smiling at him like angelic children. Even Romano. "Bloody hell, you three are creepy. Stop dancing around my ego and tell me about this." He handed out the drinks.

Denmark explained. "That night you switched rooms with me, Romano, we had a lot of fun. We decided to try dating, and it was fun for a while, until I asked him to come to Copenhagen last week. He refused, because it was 'too far away'! Even though I'd been to his place five or six times since then. He owes me half a bazillion bucks, too," the Dane laughed, finishing his drink.

"Selfish little git," England agreed, ignoring the money comment. "I don't want to say you're better off without him, but you're probably better off without him."

"Kesesese! Glad to see it's not tearing _you_ up, my old friend."

"Cheers." The island nation raised his drink in a toast. Romano still looked pretty pissed off though. What kind of topic could they talk about that would cheer him up? Aha. "Eat any insects lately?" he asked Prussia, and was rewarded with a snort from the brunet.

For a while the other three explained to Denmark about the bugs, and he vehemently stated he would never eat one, not even for a Euro. As Prussia tried to persuade him, the noise level in the bar suddenly dropped.

"What? What?" Romano asked in a panic. They all looked around.

America stood inside the doorway with Australia and Japan. "Iggy, you miserable son of a bitch!" the hero yelled, storming over to the table and grabbing England's shirt collar in one powerful fist. "Get away from him!"

England rolled his eyes, standing up, and gently dislodged the hand from his collar. "We're just sitting and talking, America. Try to be a gentleman instead of a hoodlum?"

"Always with the fucking lectures!" America threw a punch at England's face, and the entire bar exploded into mayhem.

…

Too stunned to react, Romano watched with wide eyes as Denmark jumped up and started pummeling Australia – why? Then the albino potato actually stepped on Romano's lap, clambering over him to join in the fight. He ran up to some random local and they started hitting each other! What the fuck?

Someone threw a chair, and Romano decided it was time to hide for his own safety. He slid under the table and cowered, but couldn't stand not knowing what was going on, so he moved to the edge and peeked out. America and England were still struggling, but England was laughing maniacally, even though the fucking burger bastard was beating the shit out of him. He couldn't see Denmark and Australia any more, but Prussia was still fighting a couple of locals and laughing loudly too. The air was filled with the sound of breaking glass, and as he watched, a barstool flew through the air above him and splintered against the opposite wall. Dammit!

Japan wasn't fighting, though. Instead he was scooting from combatant to combatant, pleading frantically with them to stop. No one listened to him.

England finally landed a hit to the hero's face. Good for him, Romano thought, fearfully watching his friend struggle with his ex. But it seemed like the tables had turned; America cowered under the barrage of punches and kicks that the island nation now dealt to him.

Romano wondered just how much anger England had been storing up against America, and why.

Finally the barman got his act together and stepped into the room, whacking left and right with a baseball bat. "Stop the fighting, you bloody bastards!" he roared.

America tried to stop. England quickly hefted the heroic body in both arms and hurled him across the bar, where he fell off the other side and landed with a thump and a crashing of glass. "Ow…Iggy…my ass…"

In a matter of seconds the fight was over. Romano could see Japan hiding by the bar, and he could hear a quiet "kesesese" being wheezed although the albino potato was out of sight. The panting, grinning England looked bad. He had a cut down one side of his face and blood running out of it; it seemed as though someone had poured a drink over his head at some point, too, because his hair was all matted. Romano must have missed that. The island nation flexed his fingers and grinned at the beaten America, who, climbing out over the bar, tried not to meet his eye.

"America-san," Japan hissed, drawing the hero out the door. Dammit, the stupid burger bastard was going to leave them holding the bag, even though he'd started it! The two of them slunk out the door together, America feeling his nose for damage.

Australia, disheveled but not apparently hurt, stormed up to England. "You and your bloody temper!"

"He started it, wanker!" Pointing at the retreating hero, England shoved the wet hair out of his eyes and glared at the meeting host.

They almost came to blows again before Denmark stepped between them. "Shut up, both of you."

Australia scowled up at him and left, but at the door he turned back and yelled to the barman. "Make him pay for the damage!" He pointed at England, who hissed at him.

What a bastard. Romano had been enjoying his stay in Sydney, but no longer. Poor England!

_Poor England _then called out, "That was a bloody good fight!" He burst into loud laughter and dusted his hands together. Prussia, with a bloody nose, appeared from somewhere, and the three fighters hugged each other. "Guess he misses you, Den," the island nation added. "Jealous little git."

"Where's Romano? Come on, let's get out of here," Prussia said to the room in general. He lifted the hem of his shirt to blot the blood away from his face.

Romano tentatively eased out from under the table, and the other three all laughed. "Good on you," England joked. "Wait here a second." He went to the bar and wrote something down, handing it to the barman, before coming back to his friends. "Right, let's blow."

He and Prussia each put an arm around the still-quaking Italian. Romano didn't want the stupid albino potato hugging him, so he swayed closer to England, who grinned and hugged tighter; Prussia let go and hugged Denmark, and they all went out the door.

"B-bastard, are you going to be all right?" he managed. The blood had stopped flowing from the cut, and England was still grinning.

"I'll be all right. I love to fight." He still had his arm around Romano; he picked him up and spun him around on the sidewalk. _"I love to fight!"_

"Chigi! Put me down, you moron."

"Er. S-sorry." England put him down quickly and stepped away.

"He loves to fight," Denmark acknowledged with a grin. "Thanks for that, England."

"Wh-what about you, bastard? Why were you fighting with Australia?"

"Pfft. Den loves to fight, too, Romano. So do I! That's why the three of us love to go out drinking together. We almost always get in a bar fight. Who cares why? Kesesese!" Prussia jumped into the air. "It's awesome!"

"Th-that must cost a fortune in repair bills," Romano realized.

"Hah, not tonight! I gave him America's name and number." England beamed so happily that all his friends began laughing, and together the four returned to the hotel to clean up and rest.

…

And yeah, they ended up hanging out with those two bastards a lot, during the rest of the week, but it wasn't so bad. The albino potato was a lot less irritating when he was around England and Denmark. Romano actually had a good time with them, though he'd never admit it within earshot of Prussia. There were no more bar fights, either, which was an enormous relief!

But he was still glad when the week of meetings was over. He and England traveled together in a cab to the airport, and had some peaceful time alone.

"See you, bastard," he said at the airport gate. They were on different flights this time.

"First class next time, yeah?" England rested his hand on Romano's shoulder. "Please?" He gave Romano a sweet smile.

The half-nation blushed. "Uh. Yeah, maybe. I'll let you know. Take care." He sat and sadly watched his friend walk away.


	29. Chapter 29

"Hello?"

Veneziano's cheerful voice burbled through the telephone. "Ve, good morning, and merry Christmas!"

Romano sighed. "M-merry Christmas, idiot. How are you?"

"Oh, ve, I'm completely fine, feeling festive as anything! Are you busy tonight?"

"Not particularly. Why?" He sat down in a big leather chair and got comfortable. Conversations with his _fratello_ tended to be long and pointless.

"Oh, good! Germany's having a party! You'll come, right, ve? It'll be so much fun. We'll all go out caroling, or maybe visit the Christmas market –"

Romano actually snarled at the phone. "Wait, wait, wait a minute, dumbass. I don't want to go to some stupid potato party!" _Caroling?_ Pfft.

"But you just said you weren't busy tonight. And it won't be just me and you and Germany. Prussia will be there!"

"Dammit, you moron, will you stop with the Prussia shit?"

His brother's voice was now reproachful. "Ve, I'm sorry, Romano. I just thought that since you were friends, you would be happy to know he was there. I know he's inviting Denmark, ve, but I haven't heard back whether Denmark's actually going to come over."

Romano felt guilty now, for snapping at his little brother, and was mostly now resigned to going, if only because he didn't want to sit at home alone on Christmas. "Please tell me that's it. Not some huge nation party."

"Oh, well, Prussia invited England, too, but I have no idea if he's coming, either, ve."

Romano's heart skipped a beat. Oh. It would be – be good to see his friend. So – "Yeah," he said slowly. "If that's it, then I can deal with it. Nobody else?"

"Nobody else, ve. But like I said, not sure about Denmark and England yet."

But if the blond bastard was going to be at this dumbass party, it would be a hell of a lot less tedious than otherwise. And Romano already knew that England and Denmark together helped Prussia act a little more sedate. He'd just bet it would be all right. Maybe – maybe not _fun_, but certainly better than a party without the bastard. "Okay. When and where?"

"Ve, if you come over now, to my place, we can go up there together, right away!" Veneziano was bubbling over again. "Is that okay with you, _fratello_?"

What the hell; he'd already gone to Mass and changed into casual clothes. He'd be damned if he'd dress up for a stupid German party. "Yeah. Give me half an hour to get ready."

"See you soon, ve! Bye-bye!" Veneziano blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.

Well. Romano wished he kept a diary, so that he could write in it "Willingly went to the potato bastard's place"! He snorted as he ran upstairs to get a sweater. Maybe his nice red one. He never wore that anymore, and it was bright and soft and looked good on him. He grabbed his "England boots," too, just for the hell of it.

Shit. "Shit!" He grabbed the phone and dialed his brother's number. "Do I need to bring anything? A gift for anyone?" He had nothing on hand, and the stores were closed today, of course. Well, he could always bring wine.

"No, ve. It's just an eating, drinking and socializing party. No gifts."

"Right. See you."

…

Romano felt a little breathless as they approached Germany's home, but then, he always felt panicky when he came to this fucking place. Prussia opened the door for them with a big beaming grin. That was as usual, too. "Hey, guys! Come on in! _Hey, West!_ Man, this is going to be fun. We haven't had a party in forever!" He hugged them both – thankfully only briefly in Romano's case – and led them into the family room, which was tastefully decorated, with quiet Christmas music playing in the background. Denmark stood by the fireplace, drinking a beer.

He didn't want to look like an idiot so Romano didn't ask about England, or look around for him. "Hey, bastard," he greeted the Dane, who tilted his bottle in salute. No sign of the macho potato, and Veneziano had already skipped off to find him.

"What will you drink, Romano?" Prussia asked. "West got a buttload of high-quality liquor for tonight." He gestured towards a sideboard which was laden with bottles, glasses, an ice bucket with a bottle of wine, and almost all the paraphernalia for mixing drinks that Romano could imagine. And of course a cooler of beer on the floor.

The half-nation shrugged. "Mix me up something interesting," he said. Dammit, he hoped England would get here soon. Hopefully he was just late. Chatting with these bozos might get annoying.

"Kesesese! I can do a Bloody Mary for you. Luckily we had some of the stuff here, because we didn't know you were coming until this morning."

"You bastards having a good holiday season?" He accepted the drink and sat on the sofa; Denmark joined him, but Prussia hovered by the bar.

"Not bad," the Viking said. "We celebrate on Christmas Eve, in my country, so today was a pretty low-key day."

"Good thing you had my awesome party to attend, then, right?" Prussia cackled some more.

The potato bastard and Veneziano came into the room, each with a tray of canapés which they set on the coffee table. "Ve, hi Denmark! Here are some munchable munchies!"

Denmark nodded. "Thanks, and merry Christmas to you."

"Oh, merry Christmas to you, too, ve."

Romano needed to get the obligations over with, too. "Hi, G-Germany."

"I am glad you could join us, Romano. Merry Christmas."

He nodded. "Merry Christmas." Whew. Now he could ignore the bastard.

The two lovebirds went back to the kitchen; he scowled after them. This was going to be a shitty party; he knew it already. "What are we doing tonight? Just hanging out? No singing, I hope."

"Den and I can awesomely sing well. When –"

But the doorbell rang, cutting off the albino potato. Romano jerked in his seat a little, but then leaned back.

"Prussia, will you get the door?" Germany called from the kitchen.

"No problem!" To his friends he said, "Must be England. Nobody else was invited." He ran out of the room.

"Get in any bar fights lately?" the Italian asked Denmark, just to make conversation.

"Hell, yes. Got into a fight at Sweden's the other night. Man, that's always so boring. I fight, and Sweden just sits there looking at me. I even chopped up a barstool with my axe, and all he did was roll his eyes and shake his head _no._" Denmark laughed a little. "Well, you win some, you lose some!" He got up and fetched another beer.

Romano shifted further into the corner of the couch. These bastards were worse than he'd thought!

Then he heard voices – Prussia's, and – and England's – in the kitchen, probably greeting the potato bastard and Veneziano, and then they came into the room. The brunet could feel himself blushing with relief. His friend would help take some of the conversational heat off him. "Hey," he smiled weakly. England looked pretty good, in a dark green sweater and black pants. And he was wearing his "Romano boots."

"Romano, hi! I had no idea you would be here," England beamed, shaking his hand and then Denmark's. "Merry Christmas to all you gits."

"And to you, UKOGBANI!" Prussia danced over to the drinks.

"Dammit, I told you to stop calling him that. It's ridiculous."

"What did he say?" Denmark wondered.

"Acronym. For United Kingdom of –"

"– Great Britain and Northern Ireland," the rest of them chorused, Denmark rolling his eyes. "What do you want to drink, England?" Prussia added.

"Whatever. What have you got? I'm so excited to be at a party. Been a long time." The island nation peered at the drinks table. "Bloody hell, you really stocked up."

"West didn't want to seem like a cheapskate."

England and Denmark both laughed at this. "I'm sure you had nothing to do with it, did you?"

The albino looked meek – a very strange expression for him. "I was in charge of liquor," he admitted.

The island nation roared with laughter and hugged him. "Mix me up a vodka martini, wanker."

"Shaken, not stirred, right? Kesesese!" Prussia began to mix it.

England came over to the couch and sat between his other friends, putting an arm around each for a brief squeeze. "Everyone having a good holiday season? Nice sweater," he added to Romano.

"Thanks. Yes, bastard, having a good holiday season." Romano nudged him with his elbow.

"Me too," Denmark laughed, showing all his teeth.

"Good. What's on the agenda for tonight?" England accepted his drink from Prussia, who then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the three of them.

"Who knows? West and Veneziano made some yummies for us." Prussia pointed to the coffee table. "Want some?"

"Eh, not yet. Maybe later."

The four of them spoke of this and that, although Romano was more of an observer at this point. He felt quite relieved that Prussia had remembered England this time. It must suck to live on an island, far away from everyone else.

A tiny, tiny little pang stabbed Romano's conscience, at that thought. _He_ considered England a friend, and he hadn't even thought of talking to him about Christmas plans! "Dammit," he muttered, interrupting something Denmark was saying.

"What? What?" England turned to him in concern.

"Nothing. Sorry. My mind's wandering. Carry on." He flapped a hand at them all.

"You need more to drink! Or maybe we do," the albino potato considered. "Give me your glass." Romano handed it over.

Germany and Veneziano popped back in. "Everything all right in here, Prussia?"

"Of course it is, West. Calm down. We're running low on vodka, though."

"Bollocks!"

"Oh, settle down." Denmark put England in a headlock. "There's a ton of other kinds of booze. You'll just have to branch out a little."

Instead of struggling, the blond bastard sat patiently waiting for his friend to let go of him, drumming his fingers on his leg. Denmark appeared to have forgotten, though, and sipped from his beer, idly glancing around the room.

"Git!" England finally twisted out of his grip and upright. Both of them started laughing. Dammit, Romano was beginning to feel left out, especially because he could see his brother trying to hug and kiss the potato bastard! He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

England immediately stopped horsing around with Denmark. "Are you all right?" He put a hand on Romano's shoulder comfortingly.

"Y-yeah, bastard. Just – uh – " He jerked his head slightly towards the two lovebirds.

"Hah, well, yes. Get up." He stood up and tugged on Romano's arm. "Prussia, let's go to the game room. Bet you twenty Euros I can beat you in a game of pool."

"Kesesese! All right!"

But Veneziano interrupted. "No, ve! We were going to go into the city and see the market! And maybe go caroling, ve. It's a very nice night, although no moon." He pouted cutely at the potato bastard, who blushed. "You can play pool later. Eat something, ve, and then we'll all have the strength to go for a nice long walk together."

Romano had stood up by now and he groaned under his breath. "I don't know if I can take this," he muttered to England.

The blond laughed a little. "Don't worry. It's Christmas. Listen to your little brother. Eat something." He pointed to the canapés and lowered his voice for Romano's ears only. "And then we'll have the energy to give them all the slip while we're at the market."

Romano's eyes widened and he began to grin despite himself. "Yes." He immediately filled a plate with food and sat down to eat.

…

Outside the weather was indeed crisp and cold. Everyone was warmly bundled into winter gear; England had worn his most insulating parka, with the furry hood. It was a little dorky but he certainly felt warm enough for this sort of thing. Veneziano and Germany dawdled behind, a little bit, but the other four laughed and joked as they progressed through the festive-looking city.

_"O Tannenbaum,"_ Prussia began, before Denmark picked him up and shook him. "Hey! Hey, Den, put me down! What are you doing?"

"No singing." The Viking put him down.

"Why not? I thought we were going caroling? I need to get my awesome voice in gear." He sang a few scales, and Den let him alone.

"I wonder if we have the vocal range for barbershop quartet, between the four of us?" England wondered. He sang a few tenor notes. "Mi – mi – mi – mi…"

Prussia, a baritone, eagerly followed his lead. "Mi – mi – mi – mi…"

They glanced at the bass-voiced Denmark, who shrugged. "Mi – mi – mi – mi…"

And then all three of them turned to Romano. "I'm not a fucking _castrato,_ dammit."

"You could at least try a falsetto, git. Don't spoil our fun."

So Romano posed with one hand on his chest, the other raised to the sky, and squawked out a falsetto "Mi – mi – mi – mi!" All four of them began laughing.

"Good one." Prussia hugged him.

Romano jerked away. "Stop hugging me! Bastard." He pulled away from him and straightened his jacket, then shoved his black-mittened hands into the pockets.

Yes, he was a sensitive git. England would have to remember not to touch him today. Too bloody bad, because it was Christmas, and the island nation was overflowing with Christmas joy. He wanted to hug everyone! So he hugged Prussia, who cackled and hugged him back. "Kesesese! Merry Christmas."

England pinched his cheek. "Merry Christmas, you adorable git. All of you adorable gits! _I love the whole world!_" He reached his arms to the sky and spun in place, and then he hugged Denmark.

All his friends laughed. "Yeah, we love you too, Iggy."

Oh, who cared if they wanted to call him 'Iggy.' He didn't care anymore. He beamed at Romano, who walked next to him, and got a little smile back. Romano's cheeks were pink with the cold, and he looked like a little kid on a festive outing, all bundled up. England just wanted to grab him and squeeze the stuffing out of him, but didn't risk it.

"Ve, turn left up here, and we can go to the market! It's really pretty and fun. Germany and I always come to visit it together. We get a lot of ornaments there."

"You do make nice stuff, Germany, I'll grant you that." Denmark nodded. "Your cuckoo clocks are really nice! I used to do a lot of cuckoo clocks, but it's not worth it any longer. Not enough buyers."

Everyone crossed the road. "I don't understand why anybody would even _want_ a cuckoo clock," Romano grumbled. "Every hour, hearing that crazy German cuckoo? It'd drive me nuts."

"It'd drive you _cuckoo, _kesesese."

"Some people like them because it reminds them of a visit they paid to my country. Some people don't wind them up, but simply hang them on the wall as a decorative piece." Germany spoke with evident pride.

England agreed. "I know Americans are big on German cuckoo clocks."

"Here it is, ve!" Veneziano jumped up and down in his excitement, clapping his gloved hands together silently.

Everyone stopped and gazed at the market: regulation stalls arranged in uniform rows, each with a matching electric light on the left side. Shoppers browsed, picking up and inspecting merchandise; laughing children ran between the booths, eating snacks and squealing with glee at being allowed to stay up after dark. England could hear a brass band somewhere, pounding out Christmas tunes with a decided military edge to them.

"Well? Let's check out the awesome stuff!" Prussia ran on ahead and Denmark broke into a trot to catch him.

Romano grabbed England's sleeve. "Hey. S-stay here? Let them all get ahead of us."

He smiled. "Sure." They dawdled by a stall selling carved wooden candlesticks for a few moments, until Germany and Veneziano had joined hands and moved on.

"Thanks."

"Eh, you know it's never a problem. So how have you been?" They followed the others, but more slowly; as far as England could tell, Prussia and Den were already out of sight.

"I've been fine. I – listen, I'm really sorry." Romano's face was redder than before, and he was staring down at his feet, as his beat-up boots scuffed the slushy walkway.

"Sorry about what? What did you do now?" England asked him with a grin, jabbing him with his elbow. Possibly Romano didn't even feel that, as bundled up as he was.

"I'm such a shithead. I should have called to see if you w-wanted to do something together for the holidays, but I didn't even think of it."

That was surprising, and it made England feel pretty good, despite the content of the sentence. And there was one very obvious way to put his friend at ease. "Well, don't punish yourself about it, git. You realize that I could have called you, as well, and it didn't occur to me, either." He shrugged to make light of it. Though he had thought of it quite often, but had always vetoed the idea, not wanting to come across as desperate for company.

Romano stared at him with his amber eyes stretched open wide. "Bastard!" he laughed. "I didn't think of it that way."

"Forget it, then. Let's just have fun tonight, and we'll remember for next time." England lifted an arm to put around his friend's shoulders, and then dropped it hastily. "Come on. Let's get some snacks."

"Ugh. I'm full. Let's just walk and get some exercise."

"All right. I'd like to browse some of the market stalls. Germany makes some bloody nice gear."

Romano made a face at him. "You can't be serious."

"Look, I know you have some kind of problem with him, but that's no reason to ignore or downplay the skills he has." England didn't understand Romano's vehement aversion to Germany. After all, they'd been allied during WWII. Maybe that was part of the problem: perhaps Romano felt embarrassed, that he'd had to ally with someone and couldn't handle it all himself. Maybe someday England would have the balls to bring up the topic and find out.

To spare his friend further embarrassment, he headed to a stall selling nutcrackers. "Nice nutcrackers this year," he complimented the seller, who grinned and offered him a small one. He examined it carefully. "If only I had space for one. I have too many knickknacks already." England handed it back to the vendor and they wandered off.

"Nutcrackers. Cheh," Romano laughed, but it wasn't derisive. The island nation was glad of that.

The spirit of the holidays was still filling up England's soul, so he asked a question he'd been wondering about for weeks. "W-were you planning to go to Bulgaria's New Year's party?"

"Hadn't considered it. My brother and you-know-who aren't going to go, so I sort of marked it off my list. B-but I'll go, if you want to."

"Yes, let's," England decided, very pleased with this idea. "Ring in the new year right."

"Sounds good to me, bastard."

There was a commotion ahead of them. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Shit, it's the albino potato and Denmark. Come on, let's get out of here!"

England looked around wildly and spotted an alleyway between two stalls. "Come with me!" He grabbed his friend by the wrist and pulled him along; once in the darkness, he let go, and they dodged and jinked their way down the alley, laughing together. "Why are we running?"

"Why not?" Romano passed him and reached the wall at the end first; he turned at the last second and fell against it, anxiously peering past England to see if they'd been pursued. But the island nation was running too fast to change direction. He stumbled right into his friend as he tried to stop. For one soft second their bundled-up bodies pressed firmly together, their faces mere inches apart. England froze; his heart began to pound. The brunet's eyes were wide and panicked, his face red and lips trembling. "B-bastard?" he said quietly, his breath warm on the blond's cheek.

Blast. He scrambled to push himself away before the git could get mad. "Sorry. A-are you okay?"

Romano nodded and busied himself fixing his coat, where it had gotten rumpled. "Uh? Y-yeah. As, as long as we're not followed, I'm fine."

"Good." England had by now recovered himself as well, and they stood meekly smiling at each other and trying to catch their breath. Ah, hell, Romano looked so bloody adorable, with his pink cheeks. England felt his own face reddening and turned away. If the wanker hadn't wanted a hug out in the light, it was no wonder he'd freaked out, here in the back of a dark alley, even if the contact had been accidental!

But apparently Romano had mellowed, now that they were away from everybody else. "Th-thanks, bastard." England saw him swallow. Maybe he was trying not to be harsh about the unintentional embrace. That was nice of him, and probably took a lot of effort.

"Come on," the island nation said. "I bet they passed us. We can probably get back out there now."

Romano nodded slowly, and they picked their way back through the debris of the alley, back towards the light.

...

The half-nation remained somewhat subdued for the rest of the night. England was actually glad when they finally met up with the others, because conversation between the two of them had lagged terrifically. Maybe being with the other gits would jolly Romano out of his sulks, whatever had caused them.

"Kesesese! Where were you two? We've been looking all over for you."

"Wanker. We've been wandering around looking for you, too." Though what they'd actually been doing was searching for them _in order to avoid them._ But England wanted to spend time with all his friends tonight, and he was glad that Germany now suggested they go back to the house and socialize.

They went to the games room right away, all six of them, and right off the bat England won twenty Euros from Prussia, playing pool. Then he lost it all to Denmark. "Bloody hell. Come on, Romano, play against me. Give me a chance to win some money back."

"Kesesese! You're going to clean him out, with all these bets. Bug bets, pool bets…"

Romano snorted. "Bastard, you have no idea." He and England laughed together, remembering all those bloody sex bets.

They played one game, twenty Euros, and England lost. "Bloody hell!"

"At least you're only out twenty from your own pocket, since you gave Den the money you won from me." Prussia raised his bottle in a toast.

But Romano smirked at the island nation. "Cheh, now I can start winning back all that money." Well, he was entitled to a little gloating. He'd played very well!

After England had paid him the money, Denmark slouched back to the table. "Play against me, Romano."

The brunet eyed him so nervously that the others – even Germany and Veneziano, who were sitting quietly at the bar talking – burst out laughing. That seemed to decide it. "You're on."

So they played. Romano lost.

By the end of the night those forty Euros had changed hands so many times that England couldn't keep track of anything, except that none of them had come back to him. "Listen, gits, I've got to go."

"Aw, come on. Not awesome to leave so early."

"Selfish wanker! I have a long way to go. Longer than the rest of you." He set his pool cue in the rack and shook hands with Germany and Veneziano. "Thanks for inviting me. I had a great time!"

"Ve, thank Prussia; he was the one who invited you."

So England gave Prussia a big bear hug and a showy kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"No problems."

He then shook Denmark's hand; but the Dane was busy eating something so he just winked back, in response to England's farewell.

"Come upstairs with me?" he asked Romano.

"Sure, but if you think I'm giving you the money back, forget it!" They grinned at each other as they left the others playing a new game. Ah, good. It seemed like Romano was happy again. That was as it should be, on Christmas.

"So I'll see you at Bulgaria's?" he asked, as he bundled up once more.

"Y-yeah. I'll just meet you there?" Romano's eyes shifted all around. "Listen, sorry I was such a surly bastard tonight. I'll make it up to you on New Year's." He held out his hand.

England smiled sweetly at him. He was just happy his friend was not irritated any longer. Very rapidly, he clasped and released Romano's hand. "Okay. Merry Christmas! See you then!" and headed out the door.

What a bloody awesome party!


	30. Chapter 30

Bulgaria's home was an ancient Gothic pile on the outskirts of Sofia, on a sprawling property that was generally made gloomy by the overshadowing trees, the large rocks, winding paths that seemed to disappear into nowhere. But for New Year's, the front door stood wide open, light spilling out, with colorful paper chain decorations and cardboard holiday-themed cutouts everywhere, celebrating the festive season. Although it was late enough to be dark outside, his property was well-lit with Christmas lights and torches streaming in the faint breeze. England could see a few nations out on the lawn, wandering with drinks in their hands despite the chilly weather. Holiday music poured from large speakers on the porch, and he felt himself grinning with anticipation as he approached the front door.

He'd debated all day between dressing punk and wearing a business suit. Hadn't really known why the urge had taken him for either of these, but they were both fun to do once in a while. In the end he'd chosen the business suit. He wasn't certain whether Romano might be embarrassed about the punk gear, and it would suck if his friend was too unnerved to stick with him tonight. Maybe he should ask about that, and then he'd know for some future event.

England also hoped, very much, that Romano hadn't changed his mind about attending. They hadn't spoken or emailed since Germany's Christmas party.

Inside, he shook hands with Estonia and Bulgaria, who were already quite merry, with paper crowns on, laughing and holding each other up; Estonia's glasses were askew and his tie loosened. "We're so happy you could make it," Bulgaria told him, his gloved hand pumping England's up and down, over and over and over again in his drunken enthusiasm.

"Ta, mate. Is Romano here yet?" England scanned the room for him, but the hosts had already moved on, giggling and leaning against a wall, embracing each other for support.

No sign of the git. A catering firm had been hired, so he headed to the makeshift bar to get a drink, and then took up a position next to the fireplace to observe.

So far, not many guests at all. He'd spotted Greece, Turkey, and Japan out in the yard together; here in the house Liechtenstein stood eagerly speaking with Hungary, which probably meant Austria and Switzerland were floating around somewhere; Latvia cowered alone in the corner; and China stood by the fireplace arguing with both Hong Kong and Seychelles. He caught Seychelles' eye and raised his glass in a toast, but she didn't interrupt the Chinese tirade, just nodded back at him.

"Hey, bastard."

"Oh!" England jumped a little. "Sorry, didn't see you. When did you get here?" He gave Romano the once-over. He looked striking, dressed all in casual black; it suited him very well. "Wow. You look really good. Dangerous."

"Cheh. I am dangerous." They both laughed at that patent untruth. "You look good too, stupid. Almost classy enough to be Italian, except for your hair. Why'd you wear a suit?"

"Why not? Makes a change from the uniform." England nodded towards the bar. "Did you just get here?" he repeated, as they walked over.

Romano requested a drink. "Yeah. Got a little distracted at home; couldn't decide what to wear." Then he bent down to peer at England's feet. "Huh. I kind of wondered if you'd wear heels tonight, just to piss me off." He laughed, sipping from his glass.

"Why would I want to piss you off? And I don't want to wear them here anyway, with all these nosy nations around." They moved back to the place where he'd been standing before. "I almost wore my old punk gear, but I was afraid you'd be too embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Seriously? You have a shit-ton of fashion stuff that baffles me, I have to admit." He bit his lip. "But I, ah, I wouldn't mind seeing what some of that old punk shit looks like, sometime. What's going on?"

"Pfft. How would I know? I got here about five minutes before you did."

"Let's nose around and see who's here, and all that. I-if Russia's here, I want to steer clear of the bastard."

Latvia's frightened little voice piped up from the corner. "R-R-Russia's here? Oh, no!" He ran out of the room.

"Shit," Romano laughed.

"Well, maybe he is here? Let's walk around." England set his now-empty glass on a side table and they walked, speaking of this and that, while they spied on fellow nations.

"Surprises me that there aren't more people here," England eventually pointed out.

"Romania's got to be around here somewhere, too. He's Bulgaria's best friend."

"That's true. Haven't seen him yet either."

"Bulgaria looked fucking smashed when I got here. Maybe he's not so comfortable hosting parties?"

"Maybe. But then, these parties always seem to run along the same lines every year, no matter who's hosting it. Make sure there's enough to drink, be prepared for a lot of mess, and everything goes pretty well. Nobody's going to remember much detail tomorrow."

Romano nodded his agreement. By this point they'd been through the whole house, greeted the nations they'd encountered, and done a circuit of the freezing back yard, which was empty. "Come on, bastard. Let's go get some more drinks. This looks like it's going to be a fucking boring party."

England laughed. "What did you expect? Bobbing for apples and Pin the Tail on the Donkey?" He pinched Romano's blushing cheek and got his hand smacked.

"Pin the tail on you, you dumbass donkey," the half-nation snorted, shoving him along. "Drinks. Go."

"Yes, boss."

…

Seated on a sofa in the big reception room, right next to the bar, the two friends drank and talked, talked and drank, for hours, trading jokes and insults, sometimes sliding into more serious topics. Nobody bothered them. Most of Romano's time in company with other nations had been spent at meetings, not social functions; England kept up a running commentary about the lesser-known foibles of their colleagues to amuse him.

"I feel very superior to all these drunken bastards, sitting here with you in your classy suit."

"Ta." England raised his glass in a toast.

"Just glad we didn't see Russia. I hope he doesn't show."

"Eh, probably not, by now. I wonder if someone else is having a party that we didn't hear about. Can't figure out why there are so few gits here."

Greece walked to the center of the big room and clapped his hands. "Attention…everybody…" he called out, his voice soft and sleepy. Nobody stopped what they were doing, except Romano, who elbowed his friend and pointed.

Turkey was obviously irritated with his companion's approach. "_Attention, everyone!_" he bellowed; the catering staff nearly leaped out of their shoes, but again the nations ignored this. "Listen up! My friend Jappy's going to perform for us!"

Romano and England looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. "What the fuck?"

"Don't ask me. When Japan is drunk nobody knows what he'll do."

Now, with a lampshade on his head, the Asian climbed onto a small table and sang a song.

"Jesus, he's off key."

"Ignore him, git."

But Greece and Turkey kept trying to exhort everyone in the room to sing along. Nobody would. Romano snorted.

"We've had a pretty good year, haven't we?" England mused, ignoring all that.

But Romano turned to stare at him. "Bastard, I've had a sucky year! All that – that sex drama and shit?" he hissed.

England burst out laughing. "Sorry. Forgot. At least you got laid a few times. Didn't you have fun while you were doing it?"

"Cheh, you vulgar bastard. Of course I did, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. Eh, well, forget it. Tomorrow's a brand-new year and we can both have a better year this time around, yeah?"

"Deal." They shook hands ostentatiously. With a grin, the island nation scanned the room again, and they drank quietly for a while. His serenade over, Japan left the room; Greece stumbled after him. He wondered where they were heading, and then, leaning against his friend with a drunken snort, decided he didn't really care.

…

Midnight came and went, and the two of them were still on the couch drinking, but a lot of people had vanished, including their hosts. In fact the only other person England could see (other than the exhausted catering staff) was Turkey, who had floundered back in, his robes flapping, and slumped into a corner of the big room with his headgear and mask awry.

They'd been drinking nonstop, Romano keeping pace with him; this surprised England, because his friend was usually not such a boozer. But whatever. Maybe he was just feeling extra-festive. Extra-_extra_-festive, going by the amount he'd drunk.

"'M gonna have such bad hangover t'morrow, bastard," Romano hiccupped.

"Not my fault!"

"Is too. Slop – ship – _stop _getting me drinks."

"Okay. 'M glad we came to the party," England slurred, knocking back the remains of his current drink. He put an arm around Romano's shoulder and snuggled up against him, rubbing his nose in Romano's hair. "Always have so much fun wi' you." And that was so true, yes, absolutely true, more fun than with anyone else in the –_hic_ – world. Romano was warm, and fun, and he smelled bloody marvelous! He took another deep breath of his friend's rich autumn scent.

"B-bastard." Romano began to giggle. "I kn-know." He leaned into the embrace and reached out a hand, rubbing it on the knee of his friend's wool pants. "F-fuzzy," he announced with a nod.

Both of them began laughing; China lurched by, raising an eyebrow, which just made them both laugh more. "Hap' New Year," England said for the fifteenth time, raising his empty glass for a toast.

"Same t-to you too, ador'ble bastard." They clinked their glasses together somewhat forcefully, and pretended to drink. "M'best friend," Romano then muttered; very suddenly he began crying, strong silent weeping that dragged his face all out of proportion.

The astonished England sat up straight. "Wha's wrong?"

The half-nation just cried and cried. Baffled, England put his arms around him and pulled him close, making crooning noises to calm him. This didn't work. "Oh," Romano wailed inarticulately.

"Don't cry." England's hand stroked his hair. "Don't be sad, R'mano…'s New Year's! Party! Don't _cry._" He kept patting and stroking Romano, rocking back and forth, while the sloshed Italian cried his drunken heart out. "Shh, 's okay, nothin' going to hurt you…'m here, I'll protect you, keep you safe…"

Romano nodded and clutched his lapels. "Oh, _Inghilterra…_" He tried to nestle closer. "Please…"

"Please what, love?" But Romano didn't answer, didn't react to the accidental term of endearment. He did keep crying, though. "'S okay…I've got you…shh, don' worry…" How he hated to see his friend in distress. Other than the occasional tears of stress, he'd never known Romano to lose control like this. Never! His heart hurt him, listening to the deep and wracking sobs, and he had to fight tears of his own. England did love his friend and wanted to care for him; right now the best way to do that seemed to be to hold and console him, because he didn't know what the problem was. He kept saying little soothing things, patting the silky hair, but apparently the brunet's system had finally hit alcohol overload. He slumped onto the island nation's lap without another word, and the crying dwindled to a few little sniffles.

England stroked Romano's soft hair over and over, feeling so content. He hoped that his friend would be happier now that he'd cried himself out. "Rest now, little love," he crooned softly.

Soon a more pressing need made itself felt. Blast, he couldn't prolong this cozy cuddling. He had to get to a bathroom soon. _Now. _"Hey, git," he said, poking his friend and burping.

No response. He tried once more. "Romano!" But the brunet simply snorted and shifted his position a little bit for the worse.

Bollocks, well, England had to get off the sofa and get to a bathroom before he embarrassed himself. He shoved Romano aside, helping him lie back onto the couch, and went to the downstairs bathroom.

The door was locked. He stumbled upstairs, cursing, opening and closing doors (most of which led to bedrooms with sleeping nations in them) until he found a bathroom. Grinning, he relieved himself of the almost unbearable pressure and tried to count how many drinks he'd had; he couldn't do it. Lost count somewhere around eighteen. And Romano had kept pace with every drink. No wonder he'd passed out.

Once done, he zipped up, washed up, and weaved out of the bathroom. Bloody hell, there was a nice, big empty bed there. He didn't even think twice. Romano would find him later. He kicked off his dress shoes, ripped off his jacket and tie, and collapsed onto the mattress with a little smile. "Hap' New Year," he mumbled to his absent, beloved friend.

…

Romano woke up on the couch, alone, head throbbing, and busting for a piss. Dammit. He got up and wandered, trying to find a bathroom, trying to remember where he was, and why he'd had so much to drink.

He found an empty bathroom and took care of _that. _Then he started looking for a bed, knowing he was in no condition to head home. He wasn't even sure which direction to go! "Dam'," he mumbled, trying to remember who he was looking for, and why.

He opened a door. Bed. Blond hair. Oh! Right. He took his boots off and lay down on the other side of the bed, hoping the throbbing in his head would go away soon.

…

In the morning Romano awoke with his head mostly clear, lying behind the blond and holding him. Ah, England wouldn't mind. Would he? This felt so nice! "Hey, bastard," he murmured happily, snuggling closer. "Happy new year."

But – _"Romano?"_

Oh, shit! That wasn't England's voice! Totally sober now, Romano leaped off the bed and grabbed his boots in one quick maneuver, fleeing down the stairs at top speed. "Thanks for the party," he yelled to the absent Bulgaria as he burst out the front door.

Was that the click of a safety catch behind him? Shit, shit, _shit!_ He ran until the house was out of sight and then stopped, panting in fear and exertion, to put his boots on over his filthy, shredded, soaked socks. Hopefully fucking Switzerland had too much of a hangover to follow him; even better, maybe he would be too hung over to remember that Romano had been _hugging him!_ Dammit. He ran to the train station as fast as he could, and didn't let himself relax until the train started to move.

Dammit. What a shitty way to start a brand new year! He'd forgotten his goddamn coat, and his feet were soaked, so Romano just knew he'd end up with a cold, or the flu. And England was probably still back there and would wonder what the hell had happened to him.

Well, he'd cross that bridge later. For now – get home, take a hot bath, go to bed, and try not to get sick.

…

Late in the afternoon he woke up, somewhat more sanguine about his chances for survival. Switzerland hadn't come to burn his house down or anything crazy; also, Romano didn't feel flu-ish, or any shit like that. He pulled on some underwear and headed to the kitchen to make coffee.

While there, he turned on his laptop. Dammit! There was an email from England. Wh-what would the bastard think, when he'd woken up this morning to find Romano had already gone? It was very bad manners to go home from a party without taking proper leave of your friends. On the other hand, Romano had been provoked in the extreme. He paced around the kitchen, mug in hand, before he even opened the email. What could he say without looking like either a complete baby or a self-absorbed bastard? England, he knew, would laugh off an accidental hug with the wrong nation. Romano also knew that he himself would have reacted the same way no matter who he'd been hugging (with the exception of England, of course, or the stupid tomato bastard, who hadn't even been at the party). With everyone else it would have been the same result: panic and flight. That was simply his nature.

Well, dammit, the email wasn't going to go away. He finished his coffee and sat down to read it.

_Happy New Year. Everything okay? Raining here._

Hm. That was fairly generic. Maybe he could just avoid the whole topic of the party? _Happy new year to you too, bastard. Got any interesting plans?_

While he waited for the answer, he got up and cleaned the kitchen, hoping they wouldn't discuss the party in too much detail. He didn't want to think about this morning, waking up with – with – with fucking _Switzerland!_ Romano put that memory, the whole memory of the party, right out of his head. It was too distressing to think about. And he didn't even want to try to remember what embarrassments he might have done while drunk. Because he'd been very, very drunk, that he knew. Possibly he'd never been drunker in his entire existence. Had he been crying, at some point? Dammit!

Yes. Best just to scrub the whole party from memory. Night _and_ morning.

_Taking down decorations_, England eventually wrote back. _I always feel rather sad when I take them down, but it'd be bloody ridiculous to leave them up all year!_

Huh. Romano hadn't even decorated his house this year. Nobody had been coming to see it, so why should he have bothered? But England – maybe he'd had house guests, or a party or something? Not on Christmas, of course, because he'd been at the potato party. But what other reason would he have? Romano was much too curious to let that slide, so he wrote back _You always decorate for the holidays? I only do it if I'm expecting company. Didn't do any decorating this year._

_Ha, if I did that,_ England replied, _I'd never decorate!_

Of course this response sent Romano right into a pool of misery. His friend was always so alone. Well, there was one thing he could do to help him feel better, to help him feel less alone and more connected to things, and that was to keep up a steady email correspondence. At least someone would be thinking about the blond bastard, instead of leaving him isolated. Yes. That would be one of Romano's New Year's resolutions. _You're very optimistic,_ he sent, unable to come up with anything more in-depth.

_What choice have I got? Don't want to be a miserable git._

Fuck. Romano needed to get away from this computer before he started crying. Maybe he _was_ coming down with something. He drank some preventative orange juice before replying. _Stop that. Anyway, this is going to be a better year than last year. Right? I'm determined._ Though just how Romano thought he'd accomplish that was anybody's guess.

_Sounds like a plan. Listen, I do have a lot of work to get done before bed. Send me some more emails sometime._

Romano sighed. _Will do, bastard. See you._

…

_Sorry, PunkIggy…I'm saving the punk look for a later chapter! I hope Arthur in a classy suit mitigates that lack, somewhat._

_It's nice to hear from everyone in reviews! Thanks for dropping me a line._


	31. Chapter 31

Romano checked into his French hotel room for the February meeting somewhat warily. He was a little worried about which nation might be his roommate. He'd considered asking England to room with him, but hadn't, because he was afraid. Afraid that his friend would assume it was for sex purposes, when it really wasn't. He didn't want to spark an argument about something so stupid; all he wanted was to hang out with the bastard. They really did have a lot of fun together.

Nobody else was in the room yet, so he began unpacking his suitcase. A beautiful vase of lilies stood on the dresser, and he smiled at it, thinking about the nice touches France always added to his meetings. It wasn't until he'd finished unpacking that he realized there was a card in the bouquet. Curious now, he opened it and read the following words: _Please be mine, Italy Romano._ Unsigned.

Holy fucking shit. He had to plop down on the floor, because his legs had just turned to jelly. Dammit! Who the hell was stalking him? He didn't recognize the writing, but then, if someone had phoned the order in to a French florist, the card would be written in the florist's handwriting. He absently fanned himself with the tiny square of cardboard, trying to calm the panic. Wh-who? N-not France, surely. Romano had spoken to Spain a few days ago and the bastard had been singing the pervert's praises during the entire phone call. Surely, _surely_ France wasn't trying to get his mitts on Romano?

Some indeterminate time later, he did settle a bit, but then he realized it might be from his roommate, and that freaked him out again. If it was, he'd be trapped! He didn't want some anonymous bastard boyfriend. He – he didn't want any boyfriend. Did he? No. Romano got up off the floor, tore the card into tiny pieces, and flushed it. Then he dithered over what to do with the flowers. In the end he stuck the vase in the bathtub and tried to forget about it.

To calm himself, he lay on the sumptuous bed with a bottle of Perrier from the fridge (because the pervert really did do hotel rooms right) and forced himself to think about England. He knew his friend would help him out, either protecting him from predators, or helping him track down the mystery nation and figure out what to say to him or her, how to politely (and safely) turn down any advances.

During the last six weeks, since New Year's, the two of them had emailed each other a lot, and that was fun. They'd learned more about each other; somehow Romano found it easier to talk about things like his own ideas and dreams when it was not face to face. And it was good, a good strong feeling, to know that someone was thinking of him, too. He'd kept up his resolution of answering each missive, trying to make up for his pre-Christmas neglect. He'd learned a lot about the island nation, too, not just about the man but also about the country. Romano had grown intrigued enough that he wanted to visit sometime, but hadn't quite worked up his nerve to ask about that either.

Yes, everything had been mostly low-key and comfortable between them. He felt that he was doing a good job of being a friend, and that they were growing closer.

Except that Romano still worried about roommates, and still panicked about asking England to stay with him. Though at least if he had, he wouldn't be lying here flustered and biting his nails! Crap. He stopped and shoved his hands under his ass so he wouldn't be tempted to do that again.

He had resolutely avoided thinking about the New Year's party at all. Every time it had occurred to him, he had shoved it out of his brain so he wouldn't jinx things by thinking about Switzerland. He'd told himself that was the reason, over and over.

But here, alone, with England on the brain (as he so often was lately), Romano knew he was also trying to avoid thinking of something else: how completely happy he'd felt when he'd thought it was England in his arms. That sensation had been so fleeting, thanks to Switzerland's presence, but he knew he'd felt it. He wondered whether his friend really would have minded. M-maybe he'd try hugging the bastard tomorrow night, if they went out for a walk, to see what would happen. Assuming he lived through this damn stalking business.

But he didn't want England to think he was just trying to get into his pants! Dammit. If only he hadn't been so open about his sexual attitudes, the blond bastard would never have known about them, and this wouldn't be an issue. Shit. If he started hugging, England would definitely get suspicious. Romano couldn't come up with a way to get around that, none at all.

He waffled around the room, not settling, still worried about the roommate, about the fucking flowers. When it got to be midnight and no one had appeared to share the room, he shrugged and went to bed. Maybe he'd just gotten lucky. Maybe the perverted bastard had arranged a single room as thanks for getting Spain back. Cheh. Good for them.

…

In the morning there was still no evidence of a roommate. Romano dressed nervously and hoped he wouldn't act like an idiot at the meeting. He glanced at the vase of lilies one more time and decided to throw them away. All night long he'd dreamed of Russia – yes, fucking _Russia_ – whipping him with a bouquet of lilies, yelling, "Italy Romano! Become one with me, da?" Dammit. Into the trash they went.

"_Bon jour,_" France greeted him, down in the meeting room. "Sleep well?"

"Uh? Yeah, slept fine, bastard." Romano scowled as he told this blatant lie.

From behind him he heard "Lovi! How are you?"

_S-Spain_ was here? "H-hi, bastard. How are you? What the hell are you doing here?" Oh, _shit._ The tomato bastard hadn't sent the lilies, had he? Fuck, if he had –

"Since _Francia_ is hosting this meeting, I decided to spend some time here and enjoy the fine Paris winter. Being at the meeting is just the price I have to pay for spending time with him." He turned and smiled at France, who was fixing up some things at the podium, but stopped to wink and blow the Spaniard a kiss.

Romano couldn't decide whether he was relieved or not. Spain would have been easy to brush off, if he'd sent the flowers. He settled for a snort and "Yeah, well, hope you don't fall asleep with all the excitement."

"How could I fall asleep when I'm so excited to be here?" With a pat on his shoulder, Spain pushed back through the crowds to his seat and the Italian went to the buffet.

A lot of others were congregating and chowing down without even waiting to get to their seats. He bumped into Sweden, who turned to look at him but didn't speak. "Uh. S-sorry." Shit. Could it be Sweden? Dammit, he hoped not! But no. Sweden and Finland were together as always. Whew. The silent Nordic nation smiled tightly and turned back to the cake plates.

Switzerland was there, too, but other than nodding at each other and both blushing, they didn't communicate. Romano's heart gave an almighty leap and then began hammering. Shit! Hopefully the flowers weren't from _him_. He nearly dropped his breakfast. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that? S-Switzerland it could very well be, and he was far too terrified to say no to that nation, whom he didn't know very well at all. Fuck, what if he said no and the bastard shot him? Somehow he reached his chair with coffee and pastries, with no stumbles or other mishaps. He needed England desperately right now, needed the strength of his presence and the agility of his brain to help him out of this situation, or he'd be a total nervous mess all day.

To his enormous relief the island nation then entered the room and smiled at him. His face was red – he must have been running, to make it to the meeting on time. He crossed to the vacant chair next to Romano and sat, without getting any food or drink. "Good morning."

"Same to you, bastard." Whew. He was at ease now. England would definitely help him out. "Good to see you. Lunch?" He hoped so. He really needed advice about this dumb flower business, and he wanted the protection the blond would give.

"You think I'd break our date?" He gave Romano a tiny, soft smile, making him blush.

"Wh-whatever!" he snapped, too flustered to go into any detail. "Just – don't be an ass." Dammit. As if he didn't have enough problems, here was England teasing him. Bastard.

The blond frowned a bit. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I – " France began the meeting, though, so they had to save the discussion for later.

…

Right away at lunch he explained the flower dilemma to England, who raised his distinctive eyebrows in amazement, and then cried with laughter. "Stop that, bastard. I'm scared as hell."

"Eh, well, don't be." He kept chuckling and cleared his throat. "I – I will help you through it. There – was no clue on the card, though?"

"N-no. It might be Switzerland, though, or Russia."

The blond considered this. "Might not. What makes you pick those two specifically?"

"Russia? No reason. Had nightmares that it was him, but I have no real reason to think he'd do that. He's left me alone since the Thailand meeting."

"So why Swissy?" England reached for a croissant.

"Uh." Romano took a deep breath. "I never told you about this. On – on New Year's, when I woke up, we – we were sharing a bed. I – had my arms around him. And then," he stumbled, not wanting to admit he'd mistaken Switzerland for England, "uh, well, then, when I knew it was him, I ran for it. I was terrified." He blushed terrifically and ran a hand over his face.

But his friend was chuckling again. "I realize you have a high opinion of yourself, but do you really think that just because you were accidentally holding him, he's going to want you?"

"Dammit. Don't be such a nasty bastard." Romano couldn't believe England wasn't taking this more seriously.

"Oh, calm down. It's probably nothing to fear." He finished the croissant and dusted flaky crumbs from his hands. "You never did tell me where you went that day. Bulgaria and Estonia were dead to the world, and I looked into every bedroom trying to find you, but I guess you were gone by then."

"Damn right. I was home by nine."

"Pfft. Are – are you still on your mad sex quest?" He blushed a little and drank some tea.

Well, no wonder he'd turned red. What a fucking awkward question. But Romano was too upset about the stalker to worry about social nuances. "What? No, stupid. I gave all that up after the fuckup with America." He felt calm enough to drink some coffee at this point. England's lighthearted attitude towards all this was going a long way towards reassuring him.

"Good. Stick to that, and don't let anyone push you around."

"Uh. I'll try."

…

At the end of the day Romano scurried from the room, his usual tactic to avoid the nations that made him nervous. "Excuse me? England?" Romania approached him with a smile. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course." He stood and stretched, folding up his laptop.

The fanged nation spoke in a low voice. "I – I hope you don't find this too awkward. I – want to ask America for a date." He stopped, apparently waiting to see whether England would get angry or not.

"Good luck to you," he replied with a laugh. "You want my blessing? You've got it. Be careful, though. I hear he had some problems with Denmark recently."

Romania nodded. "Yeah, I heard that too. Okay, cool. I've liked him for such a long time, but he was with you, and then – well, I didn't want to upset you, you know. I know the kind of havoc you could wreak on me!"

This made the island nation laugh more loudly. "Don't worry about me. I'm over him." They hugged each other.

"_Chigi!" _they heard from the doorway, and drew apart. "Will you get the fuck out here, bastard? I'm tired of waiting." The half-nation was red and very angry-looking.

England wondered what was wrong with him. It had only been half a minute since the git had left the room. Could – could it be he was jealous? "Yeah, I'll be right there," he called out, scooping up his gear. "Good luck," he whispered to Romania with a wink, before hurrying out the door to his irritable friend.

"Dammit," Romano snarled. They headed together towards the stairwell to stop off at their rooms and put their excess things away.

"Bloody hell, get over it. I was only in there for thirty seconds." England watched his friend's face carefully.

"Why the fuck were you hugging him?"

"He just needed some advice, all right? I wished him luck. He wants to go after America, and he wanted to clear it with me so it wouldn't upset me. He's good to go, as far as I'm concerned. But it was a nice gesture, for him to ask me about it."

"S-seriously?" Romano sounded a little subdued as they reached the blond's floor. "Oh."

"No big deal. Be interesting to see if America can hold onto him, or if he pisses Romania off, too."

"Y-yeah. Okay, I'm up one flight. I'll meet you in the lobby?"

"See you in a few." England slipped into his room and closed the door with a grin.

He was very happy to be at a meeting. This wasn't quite the way he'd hoped this evening would play out, but it promised to be amusing, so he'd see how it progressed. Poor panicky Romano and his _stalker trouble_! England laughed aloud as he changed into casual clothing. Oh, yes. He would protect his frightened little friend from any mean and nasty predators, all night long if he had to. No doubt about that at all.

…

He waited around the lobby for a few minutes, humming to himself. Romano came down the stairs at a clip and nearly stumbled into him. "Bastard!" he hissed. "There was another one!" His face was white with fear.

"Another what?"

"Vase of flowers and a note, stupid." Romano kept his voice low and motioned to the front door of the hotel. "Roses this time. Come on. I don't want to be standing around here."

They went outside; several steps away England grinned and asked more about the new development. "Did it say who was sending them?"

"No. No! But – but it said he'd come to my room tonight." The brunet grabbed his friend's shoulder in a death grip. "What the hell am I going to do?"

"Don't answer the door?" England suggested. "Let go of me; you're hurting my shoulder. Or, maybe he – or _she_, you realize – might come to the room while we're out at dinner, and then you wouldn't have to worry."

"Cheh, yeah, until tomorrow, and then it'd start all over again. I can't take this. If I have another night like last night, I'll be a complete wreck tomorrow."

England patted him on the head. "Don't be so silly. This is nothing to worry about! Cross that bridge when you get there."

"Fucking cliché meister. Shut up and find us a restaurant." But Romano seemed happier now, and England had high hopes that he'd be able to keep his friend amused through the rest of the evening.

…

As they approached the hotel after dinner, Romano's apprehension began to grow again. This time he had an idea, though. "H-hey, bastard. Come hang out with me in my room, okay?"

"My bodyguard rates are high," England countered with an arched eyebrow, buffing his nails on his shirt. "Sure you can afford me?"

"Pfft. I'll buy you a bottle of Perrier from the mini-bar." Despite this little joke Romano was still so fucking tormented. That must be why England agreed. Frankly, he didn't care why. He just wanted his friend with him tonight.

"Yes, I'll come stay with you for a while. I don't have a problem with that."

So they went to his room and sat in the desk chairs. Romano faced the door, occasionally darting a jittery glance at the roses. He knew he wasn't being a very good conversationalist, giving distracted half-assed answers to his friend's comments, but he couldn't settle at all.

"Listen, git," England then said. "If you're going to sit here and be a nervous Nellie, at least let me go back to my room and get something to do. Okay? I do have some work I could be doing."

Romano flapped his hand. "Yes, go. Just – just hurry back, all right? Please?"

"Of course I will." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder again, and Romano felt soothed.

Yes, with England by his side, he could deal with it. With anything. He reached up and covered that hand with his own, smiling. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, sit tight, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

When he'd gone, Romano took and released a few deep breaths, meditatively, attempting to get himself back into a more normal frame of mind. After all, just because someone expressed interest in him didn't mean he'd have to go along with it. He could be mature, thank the person for their interest, and decline.

Unless it was either Russia or Switzerland, in which case he'd probably have to run off and be a hermit in Tibet somewhere to escape their vengeance. Shit.

He pictured himself with a shaven head, wearing a saffron robe and sandals, trying to fit in with chanting Tibetan monks; this image was so funny that he grinned, kicked back in the chair, and lost himself in daydreams of that general nature. Hah.

_Knock!_ Romano jumped so high that he nearly fell out of the chair. Fuck! Wh-where the hell was England, dammit? He sat like a paralyzed rabbit, waiting to see if the knocking bastard would go away.

But no. Several more banging knocks drove him into the corner of the room, hands pressed down over his heart, and then he heard England's voice bellowing, "Will you let me in, you bloody panicking git?"

All Romano's breath left him at once. He crossed unsteadily to the door, bracing himself against the wall, and opened it. "Bastard, you scared the hell out of me." His knees were still weak.

"Sorry," though it was obvious he wasn't. "I take it no 'mystery lover' has shown up?"

"Shut up. This is like a trauma for me, you realize. Your sarcastic comments aren't helping."

"They're not?" He moved to set a little bag and his laptop on the spare bed; Romano stayed leaning against the wall. "I thought they'd do an admirable job of keeping your mind off things."

"Cheh, well, sort of." He managed a feeble smile. "Thanks for helping me deal with it. And you're right, nobody came by while you were gone."

"I did have an idea while I was locked out in the hallway."

"What idea? What?" Any idea he might have was bound to be a good one.

"Out in the hallway, there's a little – er – loveseat at the end. The hallway's dim now, because it's night. We could go sit on the seat and wait to see if someone comes to the door. It's far enough away that we probably wouldn't be noticed – as long as we stayed still and didn't talk, when someone approached – and yet it's close enough to your door that we'd be able to recognize anyone who was knocking." England spread his hands with a smirk. "Genius, no?"

"Not bad, bastard. Y-you'll stay with me?"

"Yes, you frightened child, I'll stay with you. I – er – I just have one question." Now the blond seemed a little nervous.

"What? Ask what you like."

"Er. What if it's someone you _want_ to be with?"

"Pfft. There is no one I want to be with."

England cleared his throat. "No one?"

Romano shrugged. "I've been thinking about that a lot," he said, crossing to sit next to his friend on the bed. "I, uh, well, mentally, or I guess emotionally, I don't mind being single. I – I'm really happy we're friends, and it – it makes me feel safe, to know that I can trust you, and that we look out for each other. It – it's very, uh, _fulfilling?_ I don't feel a lack in my life, and I'm not looking for some bastard boyfriend right now. _Or_ girlfriend," he grinned, before his friend could tack that onto the discussion.

"Okay. Though you do realize maybe you would be intrigued by this person, enough to want to try it?"

"No, bastard. I'd rather just spend my time with you."

They smiled at each other. "Okay then. Let's go sit out in the hallway. Got your key?"

"Right here."

"I'll be out in a minute." The blond went into the bathroom.

Romano left the room and found the loveseat that England had indicated, really more of an oversized, overstuffed chair. It would be a snug fit on the seat, but he didn't mind. His friend's physical presence was always reassuring.

In a minute the blond joined him on the chair. He put his arm around Romano's shoulders and turned to whisper softly into his ear. "Remember that we need to be still, and quiet, when he or she – or anybody else – comes into this hallway."

"Yes." Romano nestled a little closer. "Bastard, wh-why are you hugging me?" It felt so safe and secure, and he didn't mind it at all. He just wanted to know.

"Er? Sorry." England let go immediately and tried to shift further away.

"N-no. It's all right; you can do it if you like, but j-just tell me why."

The blond twisted his fingers together in his lap. "Er, well, I'm a very tactile sort of bloke; I think you know that already. I really – _really_ – like to touch, to hold, people. You and I, we've been – well – we aren't shy about touching each other, you know, social touching, and so I thought that I could hold you, to calm you down and reassure you, show my support. Thought maybe you wouldn't get too upset." He paused and dropped his voice. "I always want to hug you, when I see you, but most of the time I worry that you'd get mad at me. That's why I hugged Prussia so much on Christmas. You were acting like you really didn't want to be touched. But I'd – I'd rather hug you than anyone else I can think of." His voice was low and sweet; Romano nodded as he felt a rising blush.

"Okay." He smiled weakly and slipped his own arm around England's waist, and with a delighted smile the island nation returned his arm to where it had been across the brunet's shoulders. Joined together like this, they tried to settle back in the seat to await someone's arrival.

England turned and spoke quietly again; his breath was warm against Romano's ear. "Do you think you'll be able to deal with this properly? I mean, I can stand by you, but if someone shows up I can't go telling him you're not interested. That has to come from you."

"I can do it." By now Romano was mostly calm, and reasonably certain that this statement was true. "I – don't want to look like a fucking baby, having to hide behind your skirts. I'll do it. I just hope I can be, uh, forceful enough that the person gets it."

"You'll do fine." England gave his shoulders a little squeeze, and they settled down in silence to watch and wait.

Once again Romano felt the fear and the – the _urgency_ of this problem floating away. All his stress always seemed to dissolve when he was with England. Unwittingly the memory of New Years' morning flitted into his head, and he twitched, just a little. How he wished it really had been England in the bed! All this shit would be so much easier to deal with if he only knew Switzerland wasn't after him. Nobody else really bothered him enough to worry about; he didn't seriously think the flowers were from Russia. It wasn't his style.

"Must be a hell of a life."

Romano matched his reply to his friend's low tone. "What are you talking about?"

"All these nations desperate to be with you, throwing themselves at your feet." The sarcasm was evident.

"Bastard," Romano grinned. "Shut up." But he was much too languid to get snappish about this. He felt tranquil, protected, cared for. It was a warm and peaceful feeling. He rested his head on his friend's shoulder and sighed. "Thank you, once again," he murmured. "Thanks for staying here and keeping me sane."

"That's all right. Happy to help you." England stroked his hair softly. "Just stay calm. We'll get through it."

"I – I know it." The brunet now remembered that they had been hugging on New Year's, too, when they'd been drinking. Shit, he'd cried a lot, hadn't he? He barely remembered it, but yes, he was fairly certain he'd cried, and England had supported him through that, too. Dammit, Romano really was a fucking baby. He rubbed his free hand over his face.

Yet his friend didn't seem to mind his childishness. Squashed together on this soft hotel seat, holding each other, they were both pretty relaxed. Neither spoke for a long time; Romano felt his mind drifting, aimlessly sliding from one topic to another. Nobody entered the hallway to disturb him, either.

"Are you getting sleepy?" the island nation eventually asked.

His body felt sort of limp and lazy. Maybe because all the adrenaline was finally starting to leave him. "No. My body feels weak, but my brain is busy. It's an interesting sensation."

"We've been out here for an hour. How much longer would you like to stay here?"

"Mm. I don't even care anymore. Let's go back to the room and forget it all. If the bastard shows up, I'll just thank him and send him on his way."

England ruffled his hair and stood up, stretching. "Once again you're making me proud of you."

Blushing, the half-nation rose as well. "Yeah, yeah. Shut up." He poked his friend in the bicep and they went back to the room.

"Mind if I lie down?"

"No," Romano decided. "I'll be right out." He went into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he returned, England seemed asleep already. Ah, the bastard was adorable.

Romano thought about that before turning to his own bed. "Aah!" He actually jumped backwards.

England woke up at the shout. "What? What's wrong?"

The brunet pointed to his own pillow, where a red-wrapped gift box with a silver bow stood on the pillow. "B-b-b-bastard, how the hell did he get in here while we were out in the hallway?"

The blond smirked at him. "Magic? I don't know. It is Valentine's Day. Maybe the frog has some special technique for deliveries on the day. He's the master of romance, you know."

Huh. Romano hadn't even realized the date. "Wh-wh-what should I do?"

"Usually," and the elegant voice dripped with sarcasm again, "_usually_ when someone gets a gift, first they read the card, if there is one, and then they open the gift." His voice changed to a patient, singsong tone, as of an adult coaxing a child. "Do you think you could do that?"

"Pfft. Bastard." Defiantly Romano grabbed the box. It was moderately heavy and rattled a bit. Yes, there was a card. He kept his eyes on the grinning England as he opened it, tucking the box under his arm. The nosy bastard got up and walked right up to him.

Of course Romano had to break the stare in order to read the card, and England moved behind him to peer at what it said. Romano elbowed him and looked at the card. _Happy Valentine's Day, wanker._ "Uh? Jesus, bastard, don't scare me like that!"

England went from a smile to a fierce, disbelieving scowl. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"You know I'm freaked out about this! Why would you taunt me with fake gifts? You _know_ I'm going to think it's from the fucking stalker!"

The blond rolled his eyes. "Listen, I'm tired of this. Let's get out of this bloody hotel room, go for a walk or something. You _really_ need to clear your head. You are not thinking rationally. Come on. I can get my coat; Canada's probably still awake."

Swept along by emotions he didn't quite understand, Romano threw the unopened gift on the bed, grabbed his coat, and followed his friend silently out the door.


	32. Chapter 32

From inside the dim hotel bar three friends drank and watched England and Romano stride out of the building. "I wish I knew what was going on there. _Angleterre_ asked me to give Romano a room to himself, but he wanted to be put in a room with someone else."

"Kesesese! I know what's going on there. He's totally in love with Romano, but Romano doesn't know it yet."

Both the others stared at that. "What are you talking about, _tío?_"

"Look, they hang out together all the time now. All – the – time. How could they not fall in love?"

"True. _Angleterre's_ a good catch." There was a heavy sigh.

This was followed by a snort. "Hah. That _desagradable pirata_ isn't good enough for Lovi."

"Will you two get over them? I thought you were so happy together?"

"We are, _mon cher_, but we still have to look out for our friends!"

"Pfft. Look out for me, then. Find someone for me. You're the king of love, and Tonio is the king of passion! Shift your lazy asses and find someone awesome for me!"

…

Outside, the air was crisp and clear, though Paris suffered from so much light pollution that no stars were visible. For a while, Romano and England walked, each wrapped in his own thoughts. The blond wore his parka, with the hood down and his head hunched into the collar; Romano, in his black greatcoat, stared up at the sky, mittened hands swinging at his sides. He couldn't believe the bastard had tried to prank him about the stupid stalker.

After a few silent blocks England reached over and took his friend's hand.

That was kind of weird. Wh-why was he holding hands? But Romano didn't want to look like some rustic moron, so he allowed this, and while they walked along, he tried to work it out.

England had just told him about being a touchy-feely kind of bastard; well, Romano had mostly known about that already. Maybe it was an English custom, or maybe he just liked to hold hands with his friends. After all, he was always hugging the albino potato and Denmark, and he had hugged Romania tonight after the meeting. Since he was closer to Romano than those other idiots (the brunet assumed), maybe this was just the next logical step. It wasn't that he minded it. On the contrary. The night was cold, and England's hand was warm; he could feel it even through the mitten. Yes, he could deal with this new phase. He was a mature man, not some kind of awkward teenager who would throw a tantrum just because his friend wanted to hold his hand.

"You all right?" he finally asked, squeezing that hand.

"Me? I suppose so. I can't believe you got so bloody uptight about my gift." England snorted.

"Bastard, you know I'm still worked up about this dumbass stalker, or whatever. Giving me some mysterious gift was just going to push me over the edge."

England stopped walking. "Come over here, you brainless idiot," he demanded, yanking him off the sidewalk towards a big tree growing in a tiny city park.

"What? Now what? Why am I a brainless idiot?"

But the island nation kept silently yanking until they were behind the thick tree trunk, away from the pedestrians and the cruel street lights. He let go of Romano's hand and faced him.

"Well?" Even in the dark, Romano could see the green spark in his friend's beautiful eyes. He hoped he hadn't done anything to upset him, but what the hell could be wrong? Just because he'd yelled about the stupid gift box?

England cleared his throat and put his hands on Romano's shoulders. "Right, listen, just listen. I'm going to ask you a simple question. Just one question, all right? Please take your time thinking about it, and be honest in your answer. Promise me that?" His breath made little puffs of steam in the still, clear air between their faces. "I need to know, and I need to know _now_."

"Wh-wh-" This was fucking bizarre. What was he planning to ask? "I – I promise." That was the least he could do for his friend. Dammit, now he was in a panic about this stupid question!

The blond lowered his voice; the sound of it was very gentle and sweet, and his eyes held Romano's. "Are you absolutely certain there's no one you want to be with?"

He scowled. "I already told you, bast—"

England interrupted by putting his finger to Romano's lips and shaking his head. "No. You promised. Take your time, think about it, and be honest in your answer." He took his hand away.

What the fuck did he expect to hear? Romano thought and thought about this, his glance darting back and forth, trying to seek the answer in his friend's apprehensive eyes.

Oh.

_Oh!_

Romano's heart dropped straight into his boots. There was the answer right in front of him, blinding his heart like a fucking beacon. What an oblivious _ass_ he'd been – how could he not have seen it? He swallowed and raised a trembling hand to cover his mouth. A blush mounted to his cheeks, rushing filled his ears. "Uh," he choked out nervously, knowing he needed to speak, but not knowing what words to use. "Y-yes…Yes, th-there _is_ s-someone I…want to be with. Though I am…so s-stupid…I didn't understand…until just now." He bent his head, embarrassed, unable to look the blond in the eye. He knew, he just _knew_ he'd fucked up. England would never want to be with someone so clueless. And even though he'd never yet thought of his friend this way, suddenly the only thing in all the world that Romano wanted was England's love.

That warm hand came to his chin and tilted his head upward until their eyes did meet. The blond's smile was like springtime after long winter, sunshine after rain; Romano felt tears spring to his eyes as he attempted a wobbly smile of his own. England reached up a hand and gently smoothed the tears away as they fell. "That _is_ your honest answer?" he asked, so sweetly, so hopefully.

Romano just wanted to melt into his arms; he'd wasted so much time! "Yes…oh, England, will you forgive me for being so damn blind?"

"I'd forgive you anything, Roma mine," his friend whispered, leaning forward to kiss him softly.

And then Romano did wrap his arms around his dear friend, pulling him close, tasting the sweetness of that first perfect kiss mingling with the stupid salt of his tears. He felt the strong arms encircle him, those arms that had been supporting him for so long. Romano had never felt so alive in his life, tingling and excited, yet also weak and limp…he just wanted to go on kissing and holding England forever, under this magnificent tree, as it changed through the seasons overhead…

But he had to know something important before he could completely relax. He stretched the kiss out as long as he could stand it, but then had to draw back and ask the question. "Were – were the fucking flowers from you?" He wiped the last of his tears away and the mittens soaked them up.

"Yes, love, I sent you all the 'fucking flowers,'" and even that profanity sounded beautiful, coming from his grinning friend.

"Pfft. I should have guessed." Romano reached for him again. He bit his lip, gazing at that beloved face, wondering how the hell he'd missed all the clues. The cozy cuddling, the loyal support…"I am such a complete idiot."

"Not quite complete. You did figure it out."

"Cheh, yes, _after_ you pretty much gave me the answer." He shook his head. "When did you know?" He took the blond's hands again. It was really too hard to keep hugging each other, with their thick coats on.

"I think I was – well – headed towards it, on Christmas; I was _so bloody excited_ to see you that day, but I didn't think about why." England beamed at him.

"The only reason I went to that stupid party is because I knew you were going to be there."

"Hah. Well, I didn't know about you being there, but when I saw you, I had to really apply the brakes. I kept feeling like I was going to do something stupid in my exuberance."

"You said you were 'heading towards it' – but when did you actually _know_?" This was important to Romano. He needed to understand that he hadn't been blundering around like a blind moron for months.

"New Year's, of course. Do you remember much about that night? You were terribly drunk."

"Did – did I cry?" Romano bit his lip.

"You did, but that's what made me realize it. All I wanted was to always keep you safe, to help take away all your pain and fear forever, and that's when I knew." The green eyes sparkled with delight as he cupped Romano's cheek. He slipped his other hand around to the back of Romano's neck and tenderly pulled him closer. Standing on the brown and crackling grass, under the rowan tree, the new lovers happily kissed each other, over and over again.

…

Sixty seconds later: "This is really sweet and all, bastard, but it's fucking freezing out here!"

England pouted. "Git. Where's your sense of romance?" But he let go, and they straightened their coats where they'd gotten rumpled.

"I, uh. Y-you know I don't really have much of a sense of romance. You know that." Romano's heart hurt, having to admit that, but he wanted to reassure his friend. "Will you help me with that? I want to do the things you like. All those things to make you feel good."

England smiled sweetly and pulled him closer for another little kiss. "Oh, we are going to have _so much fun_ together. Yes, Roma my sweet, I will help you. Lesson one: let's hold hands as we walk back to the hotel."

"Supercilious bastard." But Romano let him peel a mitten off and join their hands together; he stuffed the mitten into his other pocket. "Did you call me 'Roma'?"

"Why? You don't like it? I could call you 'Romanito'? I – I like using pet names." England's face was red and embarrassed. "Figured 'Lovi' was probably off limits."

Romano snorted with laughter. "Yes, please. Anything but that. Go ahead and call me whatever the hell you want, just – uh – nothing sappy when other people are around?"

"Sure. Will you – do you think you'll ever have a pet name for me? _Not _'Iggy,'" he hastily appended.

"What, you don't like 'bastard,' either?" They laughed as they started walking back to the hotel together. "Okay. Okay! How about…_mio biondo_?"

"Very nice…_mio scuro._ Very nice indeed." England squeezed his hand. "You know what surprised me the most? Up until those flowers, we'd never exchanged any gifts. I was amazed at how I could feel this way, without any gifts." He ignored Romano's derisive "cheh." "Maybe you were always right about that."

"W-well, you know, we – uh – dammit, we haven't – uh, we haven't had – you know – oh, dammit, you know what I mean!" Romano's face was burning red and he covered it with his other hand. "But I _know_ you were right about that. I know that what I feel is – is true, even though we never did that."

"You bloody adorable idiot." England elbowed him.

The Italian would not have dreamed, when he'd woken up this morning, that today would end this way. But he was damn glad that it had, except – "Uh. There is something else."

"Something still bothering you? Let's work it out."

"Pfft. Not really _bothering_ me, not yet. I – uh – I want to take things slowly, you know? Not rush anything?" Dammit, he hoped he didn't have to spell it out. He didn't want to run back to the hotel and have sex. He wanted to build up to it, and make sweet love to England, leisurely and tenderly. Not some "bang his brains out" domination event. Hell, he was still trying to get used to the whole idea of them being together. "I - I want to savor things for a while. Never had anything like this before in my life."

He finally glanced at his silent friend, who was smiling almost idiotically. "I understand," he said, leaning in for a soft kiss on Romano's cheek. "Sounds good to me."

They kept walking; England started swinging their joined hands exuberantly, and Romano hummed under his breath all the way back to the hotel.

…

"Ohonhonhon!" The three friends had continued to drink and watch the front door for Romano and England's return.

"See? See? Didn't I tell you?"

A sigh. "_Sí,_ Gilbert, you told us."

"That's so nice, and on Valentine's Day too. Kesesese!"

…

England was already out of his parka by the time they reached Romano's hotel room. "Take that overcoat off," he demanded. "I want to hold you properly, without a thousand layers of wool between us."

Romano's response was faster than thought. "Are you always going to boss me around, bastard?" As his coat fell to the floor, his face reddened, and he turned away.

Of course the island nation knew what was going through his head. He dropped the parka and walked up behind him, putting his hands gently on Romano's hips. "No, love, I don't intend to boss you around," he explained quietly. "I hope that we will have a strong and healthy relationship, with neither of us having to be dominant all the time."

The Italian remained silent. England's heart ached, but he knew this lesson needed to be learned soon. He stood calmly holding onto his friend, waiting to see if he would respond.

He did. Romano leaned his head back and blew out a breath, staring at the ceiling. "I – I understand, England. I know what you're trying to tell me, but I'm so afraid – I've never –"

The blond pulled him into a tighter hug, resting his chin on Romano's shoulder. "_Mio scuro,_ don't be afraid," he reassured him in a clear voice. "I will never hurt you. I will never do something you don't want me to do, do you understand me?" When the half-nation nodded, England kissed his shoulder fiercely. "When you're ready, I'll be very, very careful, and make sure you enjoy every minute of it, at least as far as I'm able to. But you do need to meet me halfway, someday, if you really want us to stay together." He took the hand that was hanging at Romano's right side and raised it to his lips, kissing the fingertips, praying his friend could accept this.

"I trust you," the brunet whispered, opening his hand to reach back and caress England's face. "I – I'm not ready yet, like I said; I want to – to spend some time enjoying the – the _togetherness_, before we get into any of that physical shit. B-but when I'm ready, I'll let you know." He turned in England's embrace. "Never going to do anything to make you angry, _mio biondo._"

The island nation couldn't repress a little "Pfft. You know we will, eventually. With our tempers? But let's not go looking for trouble. We'll take it slowly, and everything will be fine."

Romano snorted. "Yeah. For a little while." They laughed together and began kissing one another, and it was much more pleasant without all the layers of winter coat between them. "You could stay here tonight?"

"I could. But would we actually get any sleep? It's already past midnight, and we have a meeting tomorrow."

"Oh!" Romano caught sight of the gift box on his bed. "What the fuck's in the box, anyway?"

"Er. If I ask you to save it and open it later, would you?"

Romano kissed him, and for a few minutes all thoughts of gifts and boxes were forgotten. "Uh. What were we talking about?"

"Pfft. The bloody gift box. Save it for later."

"Yes, all right. Will you stay?"

"I could just move in with you for the rest of the week. I'm sure Canada wouldn't mind having a room to himself."

"Do it, bastard. I don't want to miss a minute of being with you."

"Won't take me a whole minute," England grinned, walking away. "My bag's already packed and waiting by my door."

The brunet spluttered with laughter, collapsing backwards onto a bed. "You're so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you? Dammit."

"I was right, wasn't I?"

…

The two of them stayed up extremely late that night, cozily wrapped around each other in the bed, discussing romantic plans for the future. Romano kept apologizing for being so clueless, but the island nation was more than willing to overlook it, in favor of cuddling and kissing.

"Why'd you leave me on the couch, anyway?" Romano kissed him and ran his fingers through the scruffy hair.

"What, on New Year's? You were lying on my bladder!"

"Oh. Sorry." This weak apology made them both laugh. "Well, then, why'd you do that with the damn flowers?"

"Do what? Send them?"

"Send them without signing your name, stupid." He counteracted this harsh phrasing with another little kiss.

"W-well, because if you didn't want me, I wouldn't feel like an idiot afterwards! Why do you _think_ I did it that way? Anyway, the rose note said I'd come to your room tonight, and look! Here I am." He bared his teeth in a ridiculous imitation of Prussia.

Oh, good. Another bonus! Maybe now Veneziano would shut up about the albino potato. "Pfft. Whatever. Thank you for the flowers, _mio caro._ I'm sorry I threw the lilies in the garbage."

"Mm. That's all right. There are more lilies in the world." England switched the light off.

"Good night, romantic bastard."

"Good night, adorable git."

…

_Mio biondo = my blond one_

_Mio scuro = my dark one_

_Desagradable pirata = unpleasant pirate_

_Headcanon I got from someone else: the BTT always use their human names when they're alone together._


	33. Chapter 33

Meanwhile, across town, Romania was getting very, very upset.

He'd asked America to dinner. That nation had eagerly agreed – so eagerly that Romania got a little worried. Maybe America was too desperate? But he'd wanted the loud blond to be his boyfriend for a long time, so he'd perked up and they had gone to dinner.

That had been three hours ago. Three hours of nonstop, unromantic, hyperactive – well, _blabbing_ was the only word for it. America would not shut up! He certainly wasn't acting like a man on a date. Partially raised by France, the North American nation spouted off constantly about various aspects of French history, things he liked about Paris, the good relations between the people of France and America that continued to this day.

And yeah, this was all interesting, and if it hadn't been their _first date_ Romania would really be enjoying it!

A thought occurred to him as they wandered around the city. Maybe America didn't realize this was meant to be a date. That would explain both his offhanded eagerness to go, and his lack of romance now. Yes. Romania didn't want to interrupt the latest slew of tourist information, because that would be impolite, so he simply reached out and grabbed America's hand.

The taller nation faltered in midsentence but then squeezed his hand and kept right on talking. Romania sighed. He'd mostly tuned out for the last half hour or so. He should probably start paying attention again.

But no, America spoke of the Statue of Liberty, which had been gifted to the people of his country by the people of France. "It's kind of sad that she represents the Roman goddess of freedom, though," he concluded. "Seems like everything in the western world has to go back to the Romans, and it's kind of dull. I wish the world knew more about Native American history, for example."

That was actually an interesting opening. "People don't talk about that much," Romania agreed. He'd certainly never thought about it, and now he wondered why. Maybe because those traces of history were no longer visible in America the man. On the street – if it weren't for the near constant hamburgers and milkshakes he consumed in public, or his somewhat questionable fashions – he could, he _would_, easily be taken for a European.

"The Statue of Liberty is the tallest freestanding statue in my country," America went on. Romania tuned him out again as he began spewing out facts about statues and buildings.

This was almost the worst date Romania had ever been on! The only worse one he could remember was once when he and Hungary had tried to bury the hatchet. Instead, she'd ended up trying to bury her frying pan – in his skull! He shuddered. He had to get America's attention, had to find out if this was how he always behaved on dates, or if he still didn't know this was a date. Hmm. How to do it?

Without thinking, Romania raised their joined hands and bit America on the knuckles.

"Ow! Hey! Hey, what are you doing?" America stared down at him, his eyes hidden by the reflections on his glasses.

Romania smirked at him. "Got your attention, didn't I?" He knew his fang was showing, and America looked a little nervous. He supposed he'd have to be rather blunt about this. "Did you realize I was asking you for a date, America? Or did you think we were just hanging out together?"

America's response was all that he could have hoped for, and more. The jaw dropped; his bitten hand let go of Romania's; a weak grunt issued from his gaping mouth. "D-d-_date?_ You asked me for a date? Dude, why didn't you _say?_" he wailed, smacking himself in the forehead. "I've been acting like a complete idiot all night, man! I would have been a lot more romantic if you'd said so."

"I didn't get a chance! You've been talking nonstop."

America leaned against a lamppost and let out all his breath. "Damn. I'm really sorry! I feel so stupid. Iggy always said that my mouth would get me in trouble someday." He shook his head, perhaps at the memory of England.

"So you – would like to date me?" Romania asked, point-blank.

"Hell, yeah! Dude, you're so hot, and – well – well, you're not really a vampire, are you? I know that's what they say but I can't quite believe there are still vampires in the world, even if there ever were any, and even though all my people seem to want to believe in – " America shut up as Romania kissed him.

Kissed him fiercely, with all the desire he'd built up over the years, as he'd sat in meetings gazing at that strong, luscious body, or listening to the effervescent laughter. Oh, Romania wanted this man so badly; he twisted his hands in America's hair and pulled him even closer, feeling his date soften against him and eagerly respond. Ah, now that was more like it!

When they broke apart, America licked his lips. "Dude," he said, in a dazed voice.

"Y-yeah." Romania was a little stunned, too.

And then his date gave him the most artificially seductive look he'd ever seen, dropped his voice, and said, "Do y'wanna go back to the hotel?"

Well, he couldn't help it; that was the most awkward come-on he'd ever heard, and Romania started laughing and laughing.

America blinked in amazement and began to scowl. "What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, don't worry," he wheezed, leaning against that strong body. "Your – your technique must be a little rusty, that's all." He was trying to be nice.

America put his arms around him. "Yeah, probably. Well?"

"But I'm rooming with Norway. I'm sure he's back in the room by now. It's after midnight already."

"It _is?_" America checked his watch. "Damn. How come you let me blab all night? You should have said something sooner!"

Romania laughed again. "I think we could have a lot of fun together, America."

"I think so too, man, but not tonight. Not if we both have roommates, and it's this late already."

"Tell you what," the fanged nation suggested. "Let's just go back to our rooms tonight and consider this a – a scrimmage?" He wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar American sports term. "And then tomorrow night we can have the real game."

"Aw, yeah. Then I can think up romantic stuff all day tomorrow! Yeah!"

"Well, let's get back, then. Make sure we get enough sleep, so that tomorrow…" He left the sentence hanging, raising an eyebrow, and was delighted to see his date blushing furiously.

America pushed his glasses up his nose as they started walking again. "Okay. Did you know today was Valentine's Day?"

"Of course I did. That's why I asked you for a date."

"Oh. Listen, I really am sorry I was so clueless. I guess I've just gotten too used to being single."

"America, if you want to stay single, that's fine." Though his heart sank at that idea. "Don't feel you have to date me just because I asked."

"No way, man. I'm really looking forward to it! I don't know much about your country, and it's always cool to learn more stuff." The tall blond nodded feverishly.

"All right, then. Tomorrow, we'll start again? Go out to dinner, and have a real date?" By now they'd reached the hotel lobby.

"Agreed. Can I have another kiss?"

Romania almost burst out laughing again. Dating America was going to be a lot more fun than he'd ever anticipated. "Sure." He pulled his date into the corner of the room, behind a potted palm, and they kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed some more. "Damn, dude, I wish we had a room."

"Don't worry." He patted America on the head. "I'll do something about that before our dinner date tomorrow, okay?"

"Mm. Please." America grabbed him once more, and after a final heated kiss they split up. "Good night."

"Good night to you too, America. Sweet dreams."

"I hope you're in them, man!"


	34. Chapter 34

It had indeed been a very busy day for Saint Valentine. Norway had spent several months – in fact, it had been a constant project of his, ever since he and _Danmark_ had broken up the last time – observing and investigating different nations, to see if he could find one more compatible than the Dane. Oh, he loved _Danmark,_ and probably always would, but they were really not suited to each other, and they both knew it. Being together was sort of a default way of existing, when neither of them felt like looking for anyone else.

But Norway's research had paid off. It had to be someone with traits in common, someone a little calmer than _Danmark_, whose prime forms of recreation always seemed to be drinking and fighting. Norway wanted to be with someone he could do more with, share with, relax with.

He sat in the hotel bar smiling secretively at his new date, who had been amazed, flattered, and adorably confused when the Nordic nation had asked him out. His glasses had fogged up, and he'd removed them to polish them, and Norway had fallen in love, right that second. Research, compatibility? The hell with all that. Love strikes the heart, and nothing else matters. He hoped Canada felt as good about him as he felt right now.

The two of them sat in a dark corner, nursing glasses of warm Chardonnay and learning about each other. Norway had learned that Canada had a pet bear, whose name he could never remember (the bear was not on this trip with him), that he loved the outdoors (which thrilled Norway, because he loved to go hiking and skiing and all sorts of other nature events), and that his country was very, very cold, in the main. That too was good. Both of them had areas where they could see the Midnight Sun, and Norway had already suggested they go on a rustic camping trip to see it from each country, together, this summer. Canada had eagerly agreed.

The one thing that surprised (and pleased) Norway the most was how conversant Canada was. In meetings, during the Nordic nation's observations, America's little brother had always come across as unassuming, with nothing much to say. Now Norway wondered whether this was merely the result of being in America's rather imposing shadow all his life. Here, in their private little corner, Canada spoke eagerly and intelligently about all sorts of topics, showing a great interest in the magical and mythological creatures of Scandinavia.

Yes, Norway was excited to be here with this so-beautiful blond, and he was a little garrulous as a result. "Happy Valentine's Day," he now smiled.

"Oh! How did I forget?" Canada raised his wine glass in a toast, and after they'd clinked their glasses together, he brushed a hand against his new friend's cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day," he whispered in return.

Norway could feel himself blushing! How did Canada have this kind of effect on him already? He turned his head slightly to whisper into his ear, but Canada had turned as well, and their lips met, at first accidentally, and then with purpose. _Ah, watch over me as I fall, great All-Father…but do not stop me!_

…

_Does anybody remember the Skirmish Brothers' New Year's party from 2011 (chapter 15)? Probably not. Norway and Canada were jumping on Germany's bed together, and the SB's freaked out. Ever since then I've wanted to get them together, but until now there was never a story where it was appropriate to do so._

_Yeah, this is super short, but I've got the next chapter ready to go, so you'll get it soon. Thanks for sticking with me!_


	35. Chapter 35

France and Spain strode purposefully towards the meeting room on February 15th quite early. They were on a mission. Each knew what he had to do. They just hoped Prussia would not act like _un enfant_ when they started the scheme. He didn't know anything about it.

The room was empty, as they'd hoped, so they plated up a quick breakfast and sat to eat before the other nations could arrive. Spain had a notebook and pencil ready, but France didn't really think he'd need it. "Ready, _mon amour_?" he eventually asked, tossing his hair out of his eyes artistically.

"Ready," Spain assented, shoving his empty breakfast plate aside.

Nations began entering the room. France and Spain sat quietly at the head of the table, pretending to talk to each other, but they were actually observing quite closely. Looking to see who might have found love on Valentine's Day.

Spain's notebook already had the names of pre-existing couples, including Romano and England (although that was written in pencil, in case it had been a fluke last night). He scowled at that before picking up the pencil. His job was to write down everyone France mentioned, who didn't appear to be part of a couple.

"Ohonhonhon," France whispered. "America and Romania together? That is a complete surprise."

"Stop with the commentary, _Francia_, and keep telling me who to write down." Spain's pencil flew over the note pad.

"Norway and – Canada? _Merde_, Spain, I had no idea. I've been slacking too much, fooling around with you." They grinned at each other and then went back to their duties. "Here comes _Prusse._"

"Is he with anyone?"

"Of course not. China and Russia; they're smiling at each other and probably had some fun together, though that never lasts between them."

"Besides, you know Prussia dislikes Russia these days, _mi amor. _He'd be off the list anyway. Don't know about China, though." Spain scribbled madly as France gave his commentary, and eventually all the nations were seated in the room, munching delicious French breakfast.

"I think we have them all listed," France murmured, and stood up to begin the meeting. "Good morning, _mes enfants_," he greeted them all, with a wink. "Did everyone have a wonderful Valentine's Day?" But his eyes were busy scanning faces, to see who might be irritated about that topic.

"Yes, Papa!" Canada called out, giving Norway a soft smile.

"Yes, Papa!" America agreed in ringing tones. He raised Romania's hand up in the air like a prizefighter's. "A great Valentine's Day!" Romania grinned, too, and his fang sparkled in the fluorescent lighting.

All around the room, other couples picked up on the festive spirit; even Sweden said, "Yes, Papa," in a clear and amused voice. Austria and Switzerland again – Greece and Japan – Iceland and Liechtenstein, _ohonhonhon!_ – but France's keen eye did mark the lonely ones. Prussia, he was relieved to see, was well-behaved, not acting crabby about his dateless state. He threw the albino a wink and received one in return.

Eventually every couple in the room had answered him, save one. "Well? What about you, _Angleterre? _Romano?" France could see some surprised looks at that question, but he ignored them.

"Yes, Papa Frog. We had a very good Valentine's Day." England smiled lazily at him, waggling those distinctive eyebrows. Romano, by contrast, was red, with his lips pressed together, fighting a smirk and trying not to meet anyone's eyes. Though it looked as if he and _Angleterre_ were holding hands under the table. Good for them!

_"Bien._ Then let's get started. Please give me a moment." He bent down to whisper. "Did you get them all?"

But Spain was scowling at England. "Huh? Oh, _sí, _let's talk about it at lunch." He smacked the notebook shut and went back to glaring at _Angleterre_.

France laughed and ignored that too, beginning his opening talk. At lunch, they'd figure out who was available for Prussia, and which nation would be the best partner for him. Because they did have to look out for their friends, yes, indeed.

…

"Well?" France asked excitedly, trying to take the note pad from Spain, who fought him off. _"Well?"_

"Just ask me for it_. _We don't have to fight over it." Spain swatted him with the note pad.

France finally grabbed it and glanced over the names. "Hm. Slim pickings, as _Amérique_ would say."

"I know. What are we going to do? These choices are bad, _Francia._ I'm not sure I want him dating any of these people."

"Calm down. Let's talk about them. Hungary –"

"No; she's going to be angry about Austria's defection to _Suiza_. We don't want her taking it out on Prussia."

"Good point. Cuba?"

"Too far away. One good thing about him, though, is that he likes to do the sort of sporty, manly things that Prussia likes. And fighting, too."

"But he is unfriendly towards _Amérique_, you know," France pointed out. "And _Amérique_ is one of Prussia's 'most awesome' friends. That could be a real problem."

"Ukraine?"

France grinned. "That girl has potential. He hasn't been out with a girl in centuries; I don't count Hungary." He sat up straight. "How likely is it that Belarus would make trouble?"

"Not likely at all, _cariño._ She's almost exclusively focused on Russia."

"_Bien_. Ukraine on the short list. Who else?"

"Turkey? Hong Kong? Vietnam, Denmark, India, Thailand?"

"Wait a minute, wait," France interrupted, looking at the list. "What about Netherlands?"

"No, he was sitting with Monaco." Spain grabbed the notebook back. "I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"How did I miss that?" the blond wondered. "Well, nevertheless. Do you think we should take any of these names off the list?"

Spain thought about it for a few moments. "Yes. India's a good friend of his. I think that if they wanted to date, they would already be dating. So I don't think that would work. But Vietnam, maybe. As long as he's still flexible about girls. You know he was with Canada for so long."

France sighed. "I know. My poor little boy. Yet he and Norway were together this morning, and they seemed quite happy together! There was a time when I knew about every relationship and every potential relationship too. I'm falling down on the job, _Espagne,_" he laughed. "You are too much of a distraction!"

"But you know you love me, _Francia." _Spain winked and they settled back to order some lunch and discuss their friend's chances for romance.

…

Other than France's embarrassing question about Valentine's Day, England and Romano had a fairly standard morning – as far as meetings went. When they reached their chosen hotel restaurant for lunch, the brunet started acting very strange, almost like Prussia. Fiddling with the napkins, the salt shaker, not meeting his friend's eyes. "What the bloody hell's the matter with you?" Then England cleared his throat. "Having second thoughts?" God, he hoped not. Romano was already the best boyfriend he'd ever had, and England was delirious about dating him.

The amber eyes snapped up to meet his. "No! N-no, bastard, that's not it at all. I just – uh – well, fuck; I don't know how to behave on a real date." This last he muttered in a surly tone.

England burst out laughing, and Romano kicked him in the shin with a scowl. "Ow. Stop that, git."

Romano shrugged, but didn't kick again. "Stop laughing."

"Yes, all right. Sorry. Why do you have to be different? Just treat this like one of our regular lunches, and don't worry about it being a date. That's one of the things that makes me like you so much – how we can relax and have fun together even at bloody meeting lunches. If we hadn't gone to lunch all those other times I don't know if I'd feel this close to you." He smiled encouragingly.

The half-nation nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. I kind of agree. All right, then, let's do that."

"Sure. Then tonight we can have our first real date." England scanned the hotel restaurant. "This isn't the place I'd have chosen for a romantic date anyway, you realize."

Romano smiled weakly. "Th-thanks, bastard. Thanks for helping me with it."

"You're welcome. What the hell did you expect me to do? Break up with you?" This time when he laughed, his friend laughed with him.

"Please don't break up with me!" The brunet stopped fiddling with the cutlery. "Where would you choose? For a romantic date?" He blushed a little; England's heart nearly stopped. Romano was so gorgeous, even when he blushed (_especially_ when he blushed). He looked so adorable that the island nation forgot to answer the question. "Hey! Stop staring at me, bastard!"

"Sorry. Just admiring the view." He sipped tea and watched the blush deepen.

Romano scowled and looked away, and picked up a spoon again, twirling it in his fingers. When he finally calmed down, he turned back and muttered, "I'm not sure I'm ready for all this."

"Well, then, I won't do it! I don't want you to be uncomfortable. But, er, didn't Spain ever flirt with you?" Surely he must have. Flirting was practically all the git ever did. Not with England, though, of course.

"Yes, bastard, but he's an idiot! I didn't give a fuck about all the shit he used to say."

"Wow. Never thought I'd ever hear myself say this, but…poor Spain."

Romano grinned, having apparently recovered himself. "Bastard."

"Wanker. Just forget about all this. Let's save the romance for later."

"Fine! So…what the hell was the perverted bastard doing this morning anyway?"

The island nation laughed. "Eh, he's just a nosy git. Wondering who's sleeping with whom." He could feel himself turning a little red at that thought.

His friend was a little uncomfortable, too; he cleared his throat and drank some coffee. "Talk about work, bastard. Save that shit for later, too."

"Er. Yes." England sipped tea, and forced himself to talk about economics.

…

Therefore, after the afternoon session, as they headed to the room, neither of them spoke much. "D-do you know a nice restaurant?"

"All the frog's restaurants are nice. We shouldn't have a problem finding a place."

"If – if there are any restaurants or whatever, that you need to stay away from, that's all right with me." Romano pushed the key card into the door lock and entered the room, leaving a confused England in the hallway. "Bastard, are you coming in here or what?"

England came in. "What are you talking about?" he asked, hearing the door close behind him. "Restaurants I need to stay away from? You mean like places I've been in bar fights, or what?"

Romano gave him a big silly grin and came to embrace him. "You're the stupidest idiot in the entire world." They kissed, feeling the quiet privacy of the room enfolding them, and England didn't even care what the bloody hell his friend had been talking about. "Yep," the brunet went on. "Stupid, but delicious."

England laughed and poked him. "Why am I a stupid idiot today? Are we going to take turns being the idiot, _Signor_ Clueless?"

"Cheh, shut up about that. I meant, places you went to with – with America that might bring back memories you don't want to think about. I don't want you to be thinking about him while you're out with me."

"Oh." The blond reached out and pulled him close for some more kissing. "There's absolutely no chance," he murmured into his friend's mouth, "no chance in hell that I'd be thinking about him."

"Good."

"Unless you keep talking about the git!" He shoved Romano away again. "Let me get changed out of this bloody uniform."

"Good idea. I – uh, I don't have anything fancy, like a suit, you know." Romano scowled at the closet door. "In fact other than my uniform I don't have anything nice to wear to a fancy place."

"Well, then, we won't go to a fancy place. Let's get dressed casual and go to some tiny little place where we can sit in the corner and tell each other how wonderful we are."

Romano grinned. "I take it back, bastard. With ideas like that, you're not a stupid idiot at all."

…

The dinner was pleasant; a few times Romano started getting self-conscious, but England always managed to talk him into a calmer frame of mind, trying to help him understand that just because they were dating didn't mean they had to adjust the way they behaved with each other. By the end of the meal he felt quite relaxed. After all, this was England, who'd been his good friend for a long time. There was no reason to panic or act like an ass. Romano had already done a shitload of stupid stuff around him, and it hadn't driven him away, so…it was going to be all right.

"Hey," he now laughed, as they wandered around the beautiful city hand-in-hand. "Will you let me come for a visit soon? To London?"

"Are you mental? You can come over anytime you want. Stay as long as you like!" England picked him up and spun him around, making him laugh. "I would have invited you for a visit, you know, but I didn't think of it until after I – after I – er – and I was afraid I'd sound like some kind of dork, trying to ask you to come over without sounding too eager."

"You're silly." Romano ruffled his hair. "Now put me down."

England put him down and took his hand immediately. "Yes. Please come for a visit. I would love to show you around London!"

"That's good. While we're there, could we – uh –" But Romano couldn't say it.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

They walked on, and then the blond burst out laughing. "Want to try on the women's shoes, right?"

"You fucking bastard. How do you always know when I'm thinking these embarrassing thoughts?" Romano was red but he tried to look scornful.

Apparently he'd failed; England beamed at him. "Every time you want to talk about something like that you get rather silly yourself. Is that the only reason you want to come visit?"

"No! N-no, stupid. When we were emailing, it was interesting to hear about the things you told me, and I wanted to see them for myself."

"Okay. But if you want to see me all dressed up, I'll do it."

"Cool." He tried to sound unconcerned.

"On one condition."

The island nation's smirk was intolerable and Romano knew just what the condition would be, so he punched him in the arm. "Dammit! I won't put on a dress. I will _not."_

"Fine, then I won't either." England began whistling as they walked along, as if he hadn't a care in the fucking world.

How could he be so damn nonchalant? Oh, the hell with it. Romano grabbed his hand and they walked on. He'd talk the bastard into it, somehow. He was strangely excited at the idea of his friend in a frilly dress.

_Strangely exciting_, in fact, was a term that Romano could easily apply to everything about this relationship. He was very happy knowing that the gorgeous blond, the nation he trusted most in the world, was his lover now (well: say rather _boyfriend)._ He felt smug and secure, watching all those other dating bastards chirping idiotically this morning and knowing that their partners were lamer than his. But it was – was very exciting to not know what was coming next. He'd have been terrified if someone had suggested this to him a few weeks ago, but because he trusted England so well, he was happy just to go with the flow, see what happened, and enjoy being with his friend as cozily as they had before. With the added benefit of hugging and kissing, of course.

Romano wondered how long it would take before they worked up their nerve to make love, and how awkward it would be to get started with it. He knew he wouldn't be able to try any of his old tactics. In the first place, he'd feel like an idiot, trying his asinine blunt come-ons, and in the second place, England knew all those old seduction tactics already!

"Want to go back to the hotel?" England asked.

Coming on the heels of his previous thought, this made Romano blush, but he nodded and they turned their steps in that direction. "Can I open my gift box?" This had been flitting into his mind all day, taunting him, making him wonder just what the hell the bastard had given him. The box was not empty, he knew.

To his surprise England didn't answer right away. When the brunet checked, he was walking along, seeming deep in thought. "No," he eventually said, darting an apologetic look at Romano. "Sorry. I – I made a bad judgment call with that one. Please don't open it yet."

"All right." Though now he was on fire to open it and see just what was inside! How could the famous gift-giving bastard have fucked up? "How much longer must I wait?" Maybe this would give him a clue.

"Don't know yet. Please don't ask?"

"Yes, all right, you blushing moron. Come on, let's get back."

…

Since the two of them had stayed up so late on the previous night, they snuggled down into bed fairly early in order to try to catch up on some sleep. After some sweet talking and kissing, they turned the lights off and settled in.

But Romano couldn't sleep and didn't want to. He could not get the gift box out of his head. It was still on the nightstand, where he'd left it yesterday; he could see it faintly in the dark. He'd carefully avoided calling his friend's attention to it after they'd gotten back, and he planned to wait until England was asleep – luckily he was a snorer, so Romano would easily be able to tell – and sneak into the bathroom with it to open it. He could probably wrap it back up enough that England wouldn't know he'd opened it, and then his curiosity would be satisfied.

Several minutes later the light snoring began. Instead of leaping up and going to the bathroom, he waited until England had shifted position, facing the other direction, and then Romano slipped out of the bed, grabbed the box, and padded quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He examined it carefully. Yes, it would be easy to open and reclose; it was just a red box with a ribbon around it. Romano slipped the ribbon off slowly, holding his breath, and lifted the lid of the box.

Holy _shit!_ Dammit, no wonder England didn't want him to see it. Inside the box, nestled in tissue paper, was a box of condoms, a bottle of lubricant, and some c-caramels in a little clear gift bag. Romano's face was so hot he nearly dropped the box so that he could rub his hand over it.

Forcing deep breaths, he closed the lid and slipped the ribbon over it again, hands shaking and heart pounding. Wh-what did this gift actually mean? Cheh, well, obviously the bastard had wanted to f-fuck around with him. That wasn't the question. But he'd given it to Romano _before_ they'd been together. What the hell did it mean? That England would have settled for a quick fuck? No, that couldn't be true. But what?

Romano stood in front of the bathroom mirror, face still flaming, staring at the box and shaking his head over and over. He couldn't ask about it, because he wasn't supposed to have opened the box! He set it on the counter and backed away, as if it were a snake that would attack.

Right. Right. Well, someday, _someday_, England would allow him to open the box, and then he'd ask. That was all there was to it. Until then, he'd just have to pretend he didn't know what was inside.

At that, the blush (which had nearly subsided) flared up again, and he scowled, first at the stupid box, and then at his own reflection. Why hadn't he let well enough alone? He was always doing this kind of asinine shit!

And – and fuck, what if England realized he'd opened it, and got pissed off at him? Romano really needed to start thinking before he did dumb stuff like this. He didn't want to lose him already, over something so trivial.

Or was it really trivial? Dammit!

The best thing to do right now would be to get some sleep, he decided. Maybe he'd have better ideas in the morning. Tiptoeing back to the bed, he slipped under the covers, cuddling close to England, hoping to calm his pounding heart.

On the bathroom counter, the bright red gift box sat forgotten.

…


	36. Chapter 36

In the morning England awoke pressed right up against Romano's back. Not normally a morning person, he snapped to full awareness and gently backed off a bit, right away, so as not to wake him. The blond always woke up with a stiffy, and knowing that Romano was in the bed with him, wearing nothing but boxer shorts, made it much worse. He carefully rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, idly squeezing himself through his pajamas, wondering how long it would be before they could get a little more physical.

But he did want to make it An Occasion, when they finally got to it. Not some slapdash morning tumble when they were both half awake. Ever since New Year's morning, his fantasies had all revolved around interesting sexual playtime with Romano. He kept inventing new ways to pleasure his friend and wanted to test them out.

In his desire to move into a relationship, he'd started out with the soft and elegant gift of flowers, and then moved on to something that he'd thought would appeal to the brunet's desires – things they'd need to make love to each other. England's fantasy vision of that scene: Romano opens the box. Romano laughs at the contents, understanding that the island nation is willing to play; knowing England was not one for cheap sex, he would grasp that this was a token of a deeper desire, and they would end up lovers in every sense of the word. In England's mind, the combination of the flower deliveries plus the gift box was a sexy _and _romantic approach tailored to draw Romano to him, and to show him that both the physical and the emotional aspects would be important in their relationship.

Of course the git had freaked about his bloody 'stalker' first. It had been funny, and it had all worked out all right, but it meant that the contents of the gift box were a bit – well – _advanced,_ for this stage of their relationship. Romano had come right out and said he wasn't ready to make love yet. And that was fine! That was totally fine; England was going to indulge his romantic side to the fullest, and see if he could make Romano deliriously happy. That was his goal.

But in the meantime, he suffered from the arousal his hot lover caused.

Bollocks, thinking about this wasn't helping. He checked the clock. Well, in less than an hour he'd have to get up anyway, so he might as well get out of bed now and have his shower. He could use the time wisely and wank while he was in there. It was fairly obvious that Romano (who was still deeply asleep) wouldn't be barging in on him.

And if he did? Maybe it would spur things along! He slipped out of the bed and padded to the bathroom, making a mental note to thank Francy-pants for arranging the rooms as he'd requested.

England reached for the toothbrush before realizing the gift box was right in front of him. It hadn't been here last night, had it? He stared. Had Romano put it in here to avoid temptation? But what a silly place to put it. It was right out in plain view. He shrugged and set it on the floor, pushing it under the sink, before stepping into the shower to indulge himself.

…

When he came back out, satisfied, clean, and dressed, Romano was sitting up in the bed yawning, the covers wadded up on his lap. His hair curl stuck up at a bizarre angle – the blond had noticed that yesterday, too – and he had big dark circles under his eyes. He was still the most desirable nation England had ever seen, though. "Are you all right, _scuro_?" he asked, sitting on the bed's edge. "You still look bloody tired." He ran a thumb over the delicate skin beneath Romano's eye.

"Eventually I'll catch up. Why'd you get up so early?"

Hah. "Couldn't sleep, that's all, and didn't want to be rolling around in the bed and disturbing you."

Romano kissed him, blushing. "That was nice of you, bastard. Guess I'll – I'll get up now, too." He stretched – England could not look away – and managed to gracefully rise from the big bed. "I'm going to take a shower, too, since we have a little extra time."

Blast, if England hadn't already showered, that would have been the perfect opening. He sighed. "Okay. I'll wait out here for you, check my emails or something. If we're still really early we could go have a real breakfast somewhere in the hotel?"

"Sounds good. I'll be right out."

England sat and tried to check emails. Listened to the water flow and tried not to think about a naked, soapy Romano under the water spray. Bloody _hell!_ He unbuttoned his fly and adjusted things. Hopefully he wouldn't be in this condition all day.

…

"Hey, I liked how we did this yesterday, bastard. During the day, act like we used to act, and then when the meeting's done, we can be closer?" The hostess gestured them towards the empty breakfast tables; they chose a corner booth.

"Fine by me." England patted him on the head affectionately, and Romano scowled before laughing at him. "I just want you to be comfortable, you realize."

"Yeah, I realize. That's cool. I'm just afraid of losing my focus and acting like some romantic idiot in the middle of the meeting, and then if France or the tomato bastard started commenting on it in front of everyone, I'd feel really stupid."

England nodded. "Yes. I can see that. That's fine."

Over the meal they discussed this and that, nothing in particular, but when they heard a "Kesesese!" from the restaurant's lobby, Romano covered his face with his hands. He had his back to the door. "Please tell me that bastard's not going to sit with us?"

"Sorry. Here he comes."

"Hi, guys!" Prussia slid into the booth next to England. "How are you?"

"Bastard, why are you bothering us?" Dammit. Now Romano wished they _were_ acting romantic. It might be a deterrent to nosy, noisy idiots like the albino potato. Then again, Prussia was so clueless that maybe it wouldn't.

"Just happy to see you, my awesome friends. It's so cool that you two are together. I totally knew it, you realize, ever since Christmas."

Both of them stared at him. "You did?"

"Kesesese, sure; you ran off and hid from us for such a long time I assumed you were making out in a dark corner somewhere."

Romano kicked him in the shin, blushing. "Shut up, stupid. Just shut up about it all." Mainly this was because he felt like an ass for not thinking of that! It would have been very exciting to make out in that alleyway with England, that night.

"Oh, all right, grumpyhead, I'll stop." He waved the waitress over and ordered an enormous breakfast. "So what's going on? Anything good?"

England took a different approach. "Aren't you dating anyone? It was just Valentine's Day. I can't imagine you're still moping around about Canada after all this time."

"Pfft. No. He's cute, but I saw him with Norway and they make a great couple. Ah, I don't know. France and Spain are supposed to be finding someone for me. I know they're on some kind of mission about it, even though they don't want me to know."

"How do you know?" Romano asked, genuinely curious. "If they're trying to keep it a secret."

"Are you kidding me? I'm an awesome strategist and spy, and they…are not. I'm waiting to see who they choose for me first. This ought to be fun!" His food arrived and he dug in; the other two, who were mostly finished, sipped their drinks and watched.

While Prussia focused on the food, Romano took the opportunity to roll his eyes at England, who smiled and shrugged. Oh, well. They weren't supposed to be acting romantic in public, anyway. He grinned and finished his coffee, and they spoke of this and that for a while.

The albino was near the end of his meal when Denmark came in with Turkey hot on his heels. "Hey!" the Dane called out as they crossed to the booth. "Hi!"

Romano sighed hugely. "Pull up some chairs, bastards." Though now he wished England was sitting next to him. Turkey still made him nervous after all this time.

But the masked bastard let Denmark have the booth seat and he pulled up a chair to sit at the end. "Hey," he said to Prussia, elbowing him. "Want to go out to dinner tonight?"

Everyone but Denmark had been drinking, and all three of them nearly choked at that. Prussia was the first to recover. "Kesesese! Sure, why not? Pick someplace good."

"Oh, I will. France thought we could have some fun together."

So Prussia was right! Spain and the pervert were on a mission. Romano decided he was going to follow this project with interest. Turkey and the albino potato? Sounded like a lame-ass meal. He snorted and dodged the questioning look that his lover threw at him.

Turkey and Prussia (and England, a little) kept up a constant animated stream of chatter during the meal. Denmark, not so much. "Not a morning person, bastard?"

"Hah. No. At least French breakfast is worth getting up for." Denmark wiped up the remains of his egg with a piece of toast. "He does salmon right."

"I'll have to try it sometime. Never really been one for smoked fish."

"It's great!" The tall Viking bared his perfect teeth in a happy smile. "You should. Tomorrow for breakfast? England?"

"Fine by me, git. I love smoked salmon."

"Kesesese! Me too. How about you, Turkey?"

"Never had it much. But hey, I'm always willing to try new stuff! Tomorrow breakfast, at seven? All five of us?"

"Sure," Denmark laughed, belching. "It's a date."

By then it was time to head to the meeting, so they did.

…

Meetings ran late that day; at least it was Wednesday, so more than half the week was done. At Romano's suggestion he and England downed a lazy meal in the hotel's café before heading upstairs. "I don't feel much like wandering around the city," he said with a yawn.

"I know. You're still bloody exhausted, and I'm not doing too well either." England pushed the door open and they stumbled into their room.

Romano's eyes almost automatically flicked to the nightstand. Uh? The gift box – wasn't there? "Huh?" he said. Oh, _shit!_ He'd left it in the bathroom, right out in plain sight. "Uh, I'll be right out," he stammered, scurrying into the bathroom.

Dammit, dammit, dammit…where the hell was it? After some frantic searching he finally found it on the floor. Had it fallen? But it was standing upright, pushed way under the sink. Maybe the maid had put it there? Why would anyone do that? Well, at least it was out of sight down there. He shoved it back under the sink, washed his hands, and came out of the little room.

The blond stood at the window, his forehead resting against the glass, with his eyes shut and his arms hanging limply. "Are you all right, _biondo?_" Romano hurried to his side.

England sighed without changing his stance or opening his eyes. "Romano," he began, in an almost sepulchral tone. "You are my best friend. I don't want to push you into anything you're not comfortable with. I'd rather never be your boyfriend than make you uptight in any way."

The half-nation had no idea what was going through his friend's mind, but he knew what he could do to reassure him. He slipped his arms around England's waist and held him close, resting his cheek against the messy hair. "I want to be with you," he said clearly. "I've never had anyone like you in my life. It's exciting to me, and new, and you're not pushing me into anything. I'm glad you had the balls to tell me you were interested." He gave a little squeeze. "Why did you think you were pushing me?"

"You keep getting flustered and running away from me."

Romano didn't want to talk about the gift box just yet. "Don't worry about that. It's – it's nothing to do with you," he lied.

The blond raised his head and their eyes met in the window's reflection. "You're certain? It's, er, nothing to do with Spain, is it?"

"What? No. He's out of my life, stupid, just like America is out of yours." He finally saw a little smile in that reflection. Good. "So turn around and talk to me. And don't worry about this. Just bear with me while I get used to it, all right?"

England turned. "Yes, all right, love. Thanks for reassuring me."

Romano stroked his hair and kissed him briefly. "No problem. Come on; let's do something low-key and lame tonight."

"Like what? We could just relax and watch the telly, I guess, or go to a movie?"

"Ah, TV sounds good. I'm beat, and that way if I get too tired I can just go to sleep right where I am."

This time England patted his hair. "Okay. Get comfy. I'll see if there's something good to watch."

With a brief kiss Romano headed back into the bathroom to wash up. Hopefully he'd fall asleep really quickly, and not spend all night obsessing over the fucking gift box again!

…


	37. Chapter 37

Germany tried not to slam his fist down onto the bed. He was _boiling_ with anger. He and Italy had just completed another game of checkers – this was something of a nightly routine with them, always during the down time before they actually went to bed – and Italy had beaten him.

Again.

He sighed. This made a losing streak of 3,728 games in a row! He hadn't won a game in ten years. He was pathetic, and he knew it. To take his mind off this, Germany headed to the minibar to mix them some drinks, while Veneziano cheerfully put the checkers away. At least his young friend wasn't crowing about his win.

Germany was very glad they didn't make cash bets about this. His GDP would be in the toilet! As he pulled the small bottles of liquor out of the cabinet, he commented, "It seems that your brother is now dating England?" That ought to be a safe topic.

"Ve, yes! I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it yet, though. I have to say, looking back, it is not really such a surprise, ve. Romano told me it was England who helped him when he broke his arm, and I think they have been friends ever since."

The blond had finished mixing the drinks and felt it safe to turn back. Yes, Italy had finally cleaned up the checkers and put the box away. Good. "It is a good thing that Romano feels he can trust someone."

"Ve, don't I know it." Italy reached up and took the drink from his friend's hand. "I've been so worried about him since he broke up with Spain. It's so hard for him to be nice to people."

Germany sat next to him on the bed and sipped his Kirschwasser. "Why is he so angry all the time?" he wondered. "I have never really understood it."

Italy sighed. "He was such a happy boy when we were little together, such a nice big brother. He would take me out in the tomato fields and we would pick a whole big basketful, ve! But Grandpa always had to carry the basket back home for us." He sighed again. "And then, ve, Grandpa started taking me out to do things. We would draw and paint together, or go for walks, but he never wanted Romano to come with us. And that's when _fratello_ turned into an angry boy, and he's been like that ever since." He reached out and held Germany's hand. "I hope England can make him be happy, or at least not so angry. Ve, _fratello _was even nice to Denmark at Christmastime and I know they don't know each other well. I wonder if he is changing because of his friendship with England."

"Maybe that is all he really needs. Someone to look after him, and care for him. To make him feel important again."

"Ve, but Spain did that, and he was still upset all the time?"

Germany thought about this. "I don't know what to say about that, Italy. Maybe we should just watch and hope for the best?"

"Good idea, Germany! Great idea!" Veneziano drank the rest of his drink.

"I think they will be fine. Romano is a grown man now and able to deal with his decisions."

"Yes. I guess we'll see how it goes! Remind me to talk to him tomorrow about it, though. Ve, maybe the four of us could go to dinner together?"

"I don't mind," Germany said equably.

"Yay! Now, do you want to play another game of checkers?" Italy beamed at him.

Argh! "N-no, thank you. Let's – let's do something else? _Anything_ else?"


	38. Chapter 38

Romano awoke completely refreshed and optimistic. The stupid gift box didn't matter at all, he now understood. Sometimes he just needed to be calm and let things settle in his mind; often, when he permitted himself this (instead of running around like a chicken with its head cut off) everything seemed so much less panic-worthy. Yes, everything would be fine.

He lay on his back, smiling happily and thinking over the previous day. He could tell that they were going to have a fantastic relationship. England was such a multifaceted bastard, intelligent and funny and sarcastic, thoughtful and good-hearted, not to mention so damn handsome. Romano was already fathoms deep in love, though he felt like a sap, admitting that even to himself.

He turned to admire the sleeping England. The bastard looked so relaxed, so soft and trusting under the covers with his hair all awry and his beautiful mouth slack. Romano nearly dipped down to kiss that mouth, but didn't; he didn't want to startle him. The warmth of him, so near, was beginning to arouse him. Mm.

Romano loved lazy, warm morning fucks, but still had no idea how to initiate that. And he didn't want to do it here, when they'd be rushed and have to go to a stupid meeting afterwards. Pfft. He could just imagine himself, all drowsy and sated, trying to pay attention during the meeting. Of course everyone would guess what had been going on…wouldn't they?

And so while he lay, sleepy and safe, he mulled over the best way to seduce England. He couldn't go on like this much longer, and frankly, he didn't want to. That pale skin was so much more striking than Spain's, or the Asian nations. (Here, Romano furiously turned his thoughts away from America.) He couldn't believe he'd never even considered making love to the bastard before they'd pledged themselves to each other. England was so fucking beautiful…he could only imagine how good the blond would be in bed.

Uh. Better get his mind off that.

So, he relaxed, smiling faintly, and began to dream up a scene of seduction. It would have to be at his place, so he could control it. Yes…if he…and then they…oh, that would be nice. And England would love it, too, because Romano would go overboard to make it romantic. He might even put classical music on in the background. That shit was seductive, right?

His thoughts were so far away that he nearly jumped when England said, "You look happy this morning."

"Hey, loverboy," he laughed, when he'd gotten a grip on himself. "Yeah, I'm happy." He rolled over and threw an arm around his friend's bare chest, snuggling close, rubbing their feet together. Romano already knew England had trouble waking up, so he didn't rush him.

"Mm," the island nation sighed. "So nice."

"Yeah, if we didn't have the fucking meeting." Romano already felt drowsy again, next to his warm friend. He let himself think back to all those other bastards he'd woken up next to. That had been fun, but not like this. Not at all. "Better wake up," he then said with vigor, pushing himself up on an elbow. Better not to get too turned on, he meant.

"Are you always this bloody chipper in the morning?"

Romano shrugged. "Not unless I'm waking up with you. Then I have a good reason to wake up." He felt a blush rising at the unaccustomed flirting, so he gave England a quick kiss on the cheek and hugged him before leaping out of the bed. "Maybe France will cut today's meeting short, since we ran late last night, and we can go do something fun?" He went to the dresser to pull out the things he needed.

"Mph."

"What the hell does that mean?" Romano turned around and saw England burrowing back under the covers. "What's the matter with you, sleepyhead?" He came back and sat on the bed. "Wake up!"

The blond struggled to awaken. "All right, git, stop yelling. I'll get up." He stretched. "What did you say about the frog?"

Romano repeated himself.

"Oh. Yes, maybe. We could visit the Eiffel Tower, if we have enough spare time?" England sat up and yawned. "Have you ever done that?"

"No, bastard, I haven't. Come on, shift your sleepy ass and let's go. We have a breakfast date, remember?" He laughed a little. "I want to find out what happened with the albino potato and Turkey."

"Nosy wanker." But England finally crawled out of the bed and started getting ready for work.

…

Turkey and Prussia were roaring with laughter; they could hear it all the way down the hall. "Dammit. Those bastards have no sense of public decency."

"Eh, let them laugh. If Francy-pants really has a problem with it, he'll stop them."

Inside the restaurant the two loud bastards sat side by side in the same booth. Turkey's headgear lay on the table, and his mask was crooked. "Are you two drunk or something?" Romano wondered, as he and England sat on the other side of the booth.

"Pfft, no way. Hungary's the only one allowed to get drunk this early in the morning!" Turkey bellowed this out and waved to Denmark, who had just appeared in the doorway. "Come on over!"

"So, did you have a good date? Looks it. _Sounds _it." Yeah, he was being nosy, but who the hell cared? This was a very strange couple. In some ways they were completely suited to each other. On the other hand, Romano wasn't sure he could take much more of it. Luckily they sobered up while the waitress took the drink orders.

"It was completely awesome! We went to a horror movie show."

England laughed. "Better you than me."

"I agree, bastard. I completely agree!"

"America and Romania were there, too, kesesese."

"Hilarious," Turkey laughed. "Romania sat and calmly watched the movie, and America squealed and held onto him the whole time!"

"America's always like that with horror movies," Denmark pointed out. "That's probably the whole reason that Romania took him there."

But Romano was laughing about something else. "So you bastards spied on them all night?"

"Why not? I'm teaching Turkey the benefits of a stealth operation."

Before the Italian could make an acid comeback, the waitress came back to take their orders. The five of them ordered and then ate various smoked salmon dishes, discussing different culinary styles throughout the meal.

By the time the plates were clean, everyone felt mellow and full. "Well? Did you like it, Romano?" Denmark asked him.

"Not bad. It's a bit salty for my tastes, but in general it wasn't too bad." He nodded and drank some coffee.

"Kesesese! You should cook it with pasta sometime."

Denmark pulled a face. "That sounds disgusting."

"Cheh, you just wait. Next time we have a meeting in Italy I'll cook us all a dinner with smoked salmon and pasta, and you'll agree – you _will_ agree – that it was the best thing you ever ate." Romano sat back smugly, not meeting England's eye, because he was sure his friend would burst out laughing at that high-handed manner. But it was true.

"I'm willing to try it," Denmark countered. "Though it does sound a little weird."

"Free food is never weird! It's awesome."

"Whatever, wankers. Let's get out of here before Francy-pants sends the bloody gendarmes after us."

"Yeah, he gets a little cranky if people don't show up on time! Kesesese. I have to thank him, too, you know." Prussia squeezed Turkey's massive arm through his robe. Laughing, everyone left the restaurant.

England pulled Romano aside and let the others pass them. "Were you serious? A dinner party for _them_?" He sounded fucking baffled.

"I'm a hell of a party host," Romano laughed. "You'll see."

…

Later that evening, after a full day of administrative tedium, they finally made it to the Eiffel Tower. Romano wondered, "Why is this thing considered so romantic?"

"Are you kidding?" England turned him to face out over the city, sliding his arms around him from behind. "Because you can be private up here, and whisper sweet nothings, and you've got a magnificent view to remember when it's all over?" He stroked his fingers through Romano's hair; the brunet could feel himself getting goose bumps.

"Mm, yeah, I see," he mumbled, trying to stay nonchalant, but England then started to press tiny kisses to the back of his neck and he melted a little. "Let me turn around."

"Fine." The blond loosened his hold. "Tell me something, love," he went on, after Romano faced him. "Tell me what kinds of things you'd like to do someday."

"What? What do you mean?"

England shrugged. "Aren't there any things you've always wanted to try, but haven't? Like swimming the English Channel, or skydiving? Visiting someplace you've never been? Things like that. I – I thought if there were any things we both found interesting, maybe we could do them together."

"You have good ideas, _biondo._ I never really thought about anything like that. Give me some time; I'll come up with something." He took his friend's hand. "I'm changing so much, just from knowing you."

"What do you mean by that?"

Romano smiled softly, playing with his fingers. "Well. Before I was friends with you, I only ever socialized with my idiot brother and – and the macho potato, you know, because they're always glued together. And with Spain. So really, all I ever thought about was – was work, and sex. And I always considered myself smart, and on top of things. And then I met you, and we started becoming friends. I feel like ever since that day when we bought our boots, my mind has begun to unfold, or whatever you want to call it. I – think about stuff a lot more than I used to. Observe more. And I know that's due to your influence, _mio caro._"

"You mean like eating bugs?" England smiled at him.

"Cheh. But – but yes, that is the kind of shit I was thinking of. Without you, I'd have either eaten in the hotel restaurant, or tried to find an Italian place in the city. You move so confidently through the world. I trust you, letting you show me new things, getting me to try bugs or whatever other new and weird shit we come up with. I'm happy to be your friend, even leaving the boyfriend business out of the question."

"I hope we'll have many good years traveling through the world together, now, love."

Romano grinned. "Do you remember that airline flight?"

"What, the first-class one? Of course."

"No, not that one. I guess we were flying to America? The time I spilled my coffee." They laughed together at that shared memory.

"Yes, I remember. I was so bloody terrified of setting off your temper. I had to be on my best behavior all the way across the Atlantic."

Romano stared for a few seconds and then burst into howls of laughter, bending over at the waist and startling many of the other visitors. In a few seconds, still laughing, he leaned back against a girder, and then sank to sit on the ground, clutching his stomach as his laughter dwindled. "Shit. Come sit with me," he demanded.

But England was glaring at him, hands on hips, the fierce eyebrows making him look very angry. "What are you laughing at?"

"Sit _down_, will you? I'll tell you." He chuckled some more and crossed his legs as his friend joined him on the floor. "I felt just the same way! When I saw it was you in the seat next to me, all I could think of was not making you mad. I used to watch you at meetings and you'd blow up at people for no good reason, and I was afraid you'd start yelling at the flight attendants or something."

England finally smiled wryly. "Just how I felt. Did you know you fell asleep on my lap?"

"Yes, idiot, I knew it. I didn't know you knew it, though."

"Pfft. I staged a fake wake-up so you'd get off my lap without exploding at me."

Romano took his hand. "I was so comfortable there. I hadn't realized it was you, you know; I was asleep, and comfortable, and then I wondered who the hell was touching my – my hip, and I freaked out. But I didn't want to piss you off, so I just pretended to sleep." They laughed together.

"Who would ever have guessed we'd end up like this?" The blond raised Romano's hand and kissed his fingers.

"Well, it's been a while since then. We've done a lot of shit together."

"Lot of non-shit, too."

"Oh, shut up." Romano poked him.

"Okay."

For a while they sat cozily watching people, holding hands, feeling the chill of the night settle in around them. Romano felt great, and he felt a little daring, too. "You were right."

"About what?"

He turned and nuzzled his nose and lips through the warm blond hair. "This is completely romantic, sitting here on the floor of this dumb thing with you."

"I told you so." But England's voice was relaxed, not sarcastic.

"Kiss me."

"Happy to oblige, _scuro."_

A few minutes later: "Dammit, you're so delicious." Romano slid his fingers into the blond hair and tried to get closer.

England made no verbal response, instead merely grabbed him and swung Romano's legs across his lap. They pressed against each other, their kisses getting deeper and more intense. The brunet almost wanted to take him back to the hotel room, and skip the fucking Romantic Seduction in Italy! He needed to back off, so he stopped kissing and rested his forehead on England's shoulder.

"You all right, love?"

"Yeah. This probably isn't the best place for this, though."

England laughed. "Yes, if the frog spots us, we'll never hear the end of it. Let's go, unless you want to enjoy the view a bit more?"

"I'm all right, bastard. The only view I've been watching is you." Romano smiled inwardly at the blush that spread over his friend's cheeks, visible in the city lights. Guess he was doing all right, picking up on the romance shit.

…

They'd taken a cab back to the hotel. While England paid the driver, Romano paused on the hotel steps and glanced around the area. He knew he'd never be a good friend of the perverted bastard, but he could now say with certainty that Paris would always hold a special place in his heart. Not that he'd ever tell France this, of course. England ran lightly up the steps to join him. "It's been a good week, hasn't it?" Romano laughed.

"Every week I spend with you is a good week. Come on; let's get upstairs."

But as they passed the hotel bar they were stopped by a shout. "Hey, _Angleterre!_ Come sit! You too, Romano." France and Spain, at the bar, watched them dither.

"Ah, why the fuck not? Just for a minute or two." The half-nation was a little worried about what might happen in the room. He was still frantically aroused, and was afraid he'd come on too strong. A little chat with these bastards ought to cool him down.

Or would it?

But England shrugged, so they walked to the bar together. "Gits."

"Listen, Lovi, I need to talk to you." Spain slid off the barstool and took Romano by the arm, dragging him away.

"What's the matter with him?" England asked, sitting on the empty stool and ordering a drink.

France turned to him with a warm smile. "Ah, _Angleterre_, you know how fond I am of you." He reached out a hand to rest on England's shoulder.

This was worrying. Were these two wankers bored of each other already? "You're not coming on to me, I hope," he managed, in what he hoped was a mature and unworried way.

"Ohonhonhon! You are desirable, _mon ami_, but I have Spain now!" France's laughter tinkled happily, and he knocked back his current drink.

"Well? Then what's going on, git?" England was already irritated with himself for coming into the bar.

Before France could answer, Romano's voice erupted throughout the room. "_Chigi! _Shut up about that, stupid!" he yelled at Spain, and then turned, red-faced, to find England. "Come on, let's get out of here." Without waiting he turned and stomped out of the bar, leaving Spain staring after him in dismay.

The island nation didn't need a second invitation. He hopped right off the stool and walked away, not even troubling to say goodbye. Francy-pants could pay for his drink.

As he passed, Spain's hand shot out and grabbed him by the coat collar. "Better be good to him, _Inglaterra_. He's being stupid about you now. If I find out you hurt him –"

"Oh, go suck a frog," England muttered, jerking out of his grip and leaving. As if he could ever hurt Romano!

The brunet was already at the elevators. "Hurry it up, will you? I don't want that idiot giving me any more lectures."

"I'm behind you a hundred percent," England retorted, shoving him into the elevator. "Go."

"That stupid moron. He told me you weren't good enough for me."

"Jealous git. Just because _he_ couldn't hold onto you –"

Romano grinned at him and pulled him close for a fierce kiss. "Don't talk about him, you idiot."

The elevator stopped, and they tumbled out of it, laughing. "Ah, love, there's nothing to worry about."

"Did I say there was? Did I?"

"Pfft. You know what I meant. Open the bloody door."

And as he watched Romano open the bloody door, England remembered how aroused he'd felt just a short time ago; that had certainly settled down during the blasted interlude in the bar. Well, he'd keep the conversation banal and hopefully not get too sexually demanding tonight. At least this was the last night of the week. He didn't want to go home, or be away from Romano, but it would certainly be easier without the proximity of his soft hair, his warm skin – _bollocks._

"Are you coming in here or what?" Once again Romano was well into the room while the blond stood in the hallway daydreaming.

"Sorry. Lost in thought."

"Uh. Yeah, me too, a little." Romano yawned, rather artificially, it seemed. "Hey, listen," he said, puttering around. "W-will you come see me soon? This coming weekend, if you can?"

Now the island nation felt much better. "Yes! I would love to. But I thought you wanted to come to London."

"Well, I do, but I wanted that to be more like a real vacation, okay? In the spring, or summer? I can't really afford to take a whole week just yet, but I want to spend some time together now, where we don't have to worry about work and meetings and all that shit. So just come down for a couple of days?"

"Of course. And you can test your salmon pasta on me, too!"

"Cheh, you moron. I wasn't asking you so that we could spend all our time thinking about those other idiots. I – I want to show you around Rome, and things." He bit his lip. "Unless you're not interested."

A laughing England picked him up and spun him around before collapsing backwards onto the bed with Romano smirking atop him. "I'm interested in everything about you. Everything."

"Good." The brunet hugged him and kissed his cheek, running his fingers through England's hair. "So how soon could you come over?"

"Let me off the bloody bed and I'll check my schedule right now." A mini-vacation in Rome with his new boyfriend! This was going to be great.

…

_Wikipedia says that Hungary is the nation with the highest alcohol consumption in the world (of all the APH canon nations). That's why she gets to be drunk early in the morning._


	39. Chapter 39

Friday morning Romano awoke excited and fully rested. Well – it wasn't really morning any longer. Just before noon, in fact. He curled up under the covers, letting his mind drift, thinking about the week behind him and the weekend to come. England would arrive for his first visit tonight, staying until Monday, and the half-nation was determined to make this weekend spectacular.

By the time last night had rolled around, he'd been fucking _exhausted._

In a manic frenzy to impress the blond (whom he'd parted from in Paris with surreptitious public hand-squeezing, because he was too damn embarrassed to kiss the bastard in the middle of the train station), he'd rented and watched a bunch of "typical romantic" movies, starting with "Gone with the Wind" and moving forward through the years. He knew he needed to pick up the pace a bit, if he wanted to make England happy in that respect. So he'd had a grueling four days of movie-watching.

In between, he'd worked out menus, listing all the important dishes that he loved to make, dishes that would impress. Went to the store and bought all the things he'd need, including new sheets. (He didn't want them to sleep on the same ones he'd used with Spain. Yes, Romano knew that was kind of childish, but he still wanted to change them. The "Spain sheets" he'd donated to a homeless shelter.) He'd also been emailing England as usual, and those exchanges were always so much fun that he often didn't want to get back to his research. But he did.

And when all this got to be too much to bear, Romano would put on a coat and stride around Rome, trying to get a feel for it through the eyes of a tourist. Marking with his eye the places he felt most important to show his friend: the Colosseum, the Sistine Chapel, as well as less-famous, but dear to his heart, areas. He'd stayed up late every night this week to get all this done. No wonder he was so beat.

But everything was prepped and ready, so he felt himself able to slack off a little. He'd gone to bed after midnight, promising himself a lie-in, and had slept deeply and dreamlessly all night. Romano felt confident and excited as he washed up and finished preparing the house for his friend's arrival. They were going to have an _amazing_ time together.

…

England broke into a huge smile when he saw Romano coming towards him. Ah, the git was adorable, and they were going to have an awesome weekend, if he had anything to say about it. They grinned foolishly at each other, here in public, but when the blond tried to keep it discreet, shaking Romano's hand maturely, his friend pulled him into a big hug. "Hi, _biondo."_

"God, it's good to see you. Been bloody lonely without you."

"Don't worry. We have a whole long weekend! No meetings, no other nation bastards…we're going to have a really good time." Romano reached for the small suitcase and gestured towards the doors.

"Do you have some kind of things planned? Or are we just going to relax together and eat salmon pasta?" He couldn't resist that little dig. He hoped his friend would cook something fantastic for him.

"I've got plans. Don't worry about it."

"All right. I place myself in your hands," he offered, blushing a little at the images that conjured up.

Romano turned a little red, too. "Good." He put the suitcase in the trunk of his little Fiat and glanced around the parking lot before darting forward to pop a little kiss on England's cheek. "Hi."

"Hi, silly. Let's go."

"Get in the car!" Romano smirked at him, and they got into the car.

…

In the entryway to his home, they finally shed their coats and reached for each other, at first kissing shyly, and then growing bolder. Oh, yes. Romano did indeed have plans!

"Will you give me a tour of your home?" England broke away and gawked around the hallway, done in a classical style. "Even just this little bit is beautiful."

"Mm, later I will. After dinner." Dammit, he was on fire, thinking of the evening ahead of them. "Are you hungry now? I made some cold dishes that could go in the refrigerator, so we can eat whenever you're hungry."

"Let's eat now. Then we, er, won't have to worry about interrupting anything to eat later?"

Hm. Maybe the bastard was having the same ideas that Romano was. "Sounds good to me. Come into the kitchen."

"Whew!" England whistled as he gazed around the spacious, modern kitchen, surfaces pristine, décor warm and inviting. "Nice. _Bloody_ nice. Mine's nowhere near this size."

"Stop acting like an idiot tourist. Sit down and relax. Do you want some wine?"

"If you like. Don't open a bottle just for me."

"Sit down. Relax."

They chatted of this and that; England's travel, Rome's weather, while Romano prepared the meal. Light and elegant, it did indeed impress: the blond savored it doubly, knowing his friend was showing off his culinary skills. "Thank you for making this. It's delicious."

"I know." Then Romano scoffed at himself. "Sorry. I get like that sometimes."

"Eh, don't worry! It's not bragging if it's true." He grinned. "Wish I could cook this well."

"Someday, maybe." But the brunet sounded doubtful. "Hey, will you excuse me a minute?"

"Sure. Do what you need to do." He flapped his hand. Romano hurried from the kitchen.

While he was gone, England absently ate a little more. He was _bloody_ happy tonight, still high about winning Romano's heart, still excited about what their future together might hold. He'd spent a little time this past week making notes about the summer vacation in London. England needed a good project to challenge himself and wanted to make it the best vacation Romano had ever had.

The brunet returned, somewhat breathless, and blushing. "Sorry."

"It's not a problem. Just don't abandon me," England admonished, with a soft smile.

"Idiot. You know I couldn't do that."

"I hope you don't mind – I finished the Caprese salad while you were gone. It was so good! Thanks for going to all this trouble."

"Cheh, for you, bastard? I'd go to a lot more trouble than that." He raised his wine glass in a toast.

"You're doing quite well, for a git with no sense of romance," England countered with a raised eyebrow, deepening his voice. The blond was beyond impressed by Romano's attentiveness to him so far.

His reward was a blush on those adorable cheeks, and Romano's responding voice was a little lower, too. "I find it so easy, with you, _mio caro._" He reached out and clasped the island nation's hand.

England was tingling all over. _This _was what it was all about, he realized in a rush, his heart melting inside him. Not gifts. Not cards, or matching jewelry, flowers, or even dancing. This, this heartwarming knowledge that Romano was focused on him, trying to _make him happy_: this was love. That desperate begging he'd always done with America was most emphatically not. He didn't realize he'd sighed in pleasure until Romano began to smirk. "What are you thinking of, love?" he asked, quietly, knowing he'd been caught acting sentimental.

"Come take the house tour." His host rose from the table and held his hand out.

Romano led him slowly through the big home, answering questions about architecture, trying to gracefully accept his compliments, never letting go of England's hand. Occasionally they'd stop the dreamy meandering for a kiss, but they were sweet kisses, promising kisses, restful and yet buoyant.

Upstairs the Italian nervously showed him all the guest rooms first, before ending up at the door to the master bedroom. "Will you close your eyes and trust me?" he murmured into his friend's ear.

A surprise? England nodded. "Always." He dutifully closed his eyes and felt Romano tugging him along. Stepping carefully, trying not to trip, he followed until he felt his friend stop. There was an interesting scent in the air – peaches? What on earth –

"Open your eyes." Romano's voice was still low and haunting. England opened his eyes to find himself standing in a warm, cavernous master bathroom, scented candles glittering on all the countertops, on the floor. The bathtub was filled and gently steaming.

He turned in wonder. "You – you –" At a loss for words, he simply smiled and leaned against his friend.

"I opened the gift box," Romano confessed, slipping one arm around him, rubbing his side through his thin t-shirt. He moved closer to speak directly into England's ear. "Well, _biondo?_ Will you have a nice bath with me, and then perhaps we can learn how best to please each other in – in bed?" He stumbled a little at the end of that sentence, which endeared him to the blond even more.

"Thank God," England breathed, reaching for him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep my hands off you." He turned to face his friend and very deliberately placed Romano's hand over the bulge in his trousers. "I told you before, I'm in your hands. Entirely. Do what you like. I'm yours."

Romano's sweet smile turned slightly feral before he pressed their bodies together, kissing fervently, ripping the clothing off his friend.

…

"Dammit."

"I hope that's a good 'dammit.'"

"Stupid. That was beyond my fantasies." Romano lay flat on his back in the bed, sweat-soaked and exhausted, but he could feel himself grinning like a crazed sex fiend. "Let's do it again."

"Give me a break, will you? I'm beat." England sprawled across his chest, his fingers tangled in the dark hair. "Is it true, what they say about this hair curl?" he wondered.

"Don't touch it, bastard. I'm not ready for that yet. B-but yes, probably whatever you heard is true."

"Bloody hell."

Romano snorted. "You're telling me. You see why I get so freaked out when somebody randomly tries to grab it?" He remembered Russia reaching for it, and shivered delicately in the blond's arms.

"I understand." England slid his hand down to caress the half-nation's hip. "You were bloody marvelous, too, you know."

"I know." They laughed together. "Um." How the hell was a man supposed to say this next bit without sounding like a total ass? "You – will you –"

"Do you want me to take my turn now, Romanito?" He turned his head slightly and pressed light kisses to Romano's chest. "It's a beautiful night for it. You've set the scene so well for a seduction. My heart is full of you, and I'll treat you with the love you deserve."

The pillar candles on the bedside table were thick and tall; they wouldn't be burning down anytime soon. The peach scent made Romano feel intoxicated, the touch of England's cool skin inflamed him. Oh, yes, he was completely ready. "Please," he said, relieved that he'd not had to explicitly ask. "Be sweet to me, England. Make me want it?"

The blond's mouth moved lower on his friend's torso. "Oh, you'll want it, Roma mine. Trust me, relax, and enjoy."

And after that, England could no longer speak, since his mouth was busy in other ways, and Romano had no reason at all to make any noises other than growls of heated desire, cries of release.

…

It was late again the next day when they awakened, curled together. England had slept fitfully, hoping that his seduction had been up to the mark. It had been a long time since he'd had to be so careful. But when Romano opened his amber eyes, glowing in the late morning sun, he smiled, and the island nation knew it would be all right.

"I need a break!" Romano immediately laughed.

"Bollocks; did you expect me to jump right into it again? Pfft." He rolled onto his back and pulled his friend atop him. "Are you all right?"

"Better than all right, bastard. I – I'm glad we did that. Both ways. I kept feeling like it was hanging over us, you know? And – and I'm glad that I have this perfect memory of you and me together, for my first time that way." He blushed and hugged England tightly, hiding his face in the crook of the blond's shoulder.

"Don't be shy, loverboy. It was perfect, I must agree. Both ways." He kissed the bit of Romano's ear that he could reach and rolled him onto the mattress again. "What are our plans for today?" He hoped this type of discussion would help his friend out of any remaining awkwardness.

It seemed to work. Romano propped himself up and smiled. "Walk around Rome, see the sights? I thought we could do some of the standard touristy things, but I also have some special little places to show you."

"Sounds good to me. I need some breakfast, though. I'm wiped out." He grinned. "You're a demon, you know?"

"Yeah, I know that too," Romano laughed, poking him in the ribs. "Get up, get dressed, let's go."

…

Later, when they'd come back and decided to snuggle up and watch a movie, England's mobile phone rang. "Huh. It's Prussia. Do you mind if I answer it?"

"Go for it, bastard," Romano sighed. "Get it over with."

"Hey!" The blond walked into the other room, talking to the albino potato, while Romano queued the disc and set out the bottle of Sambuca and the caramels from the gift box. Had he ever told England how much he loved caramel? He didn't think so. Grinning wickedly, he set them on the coffee table. If they both liked them that much, maybe they could play with the candy a little. Soft strings of caramel melted against that pale skin? Romano would lick it off every inch of the bastard! It – it might even be worth learning how to, how to – uh – to pleasure England with his mouth, if caramel was involved. Then again, how would he ever tell the bastard he had no experience with that? Shit.

"Hold on, I'll ask," he heard. The blond came back into the room with his hand over the phone. "Sorry. He's having some kind of crisis and wanted me to go talk to him about it."

"Oh, fuck that."

"No; I have no intention of doing so. I just wondered whether you'd mind if he came down here. Whatever it is, maybe we can both help him?" England bit his lip. "I know you two aren't great friends," he mouthed, "but he's a good friend of mine, and I don't like to think of him suffering. I'll tell him to keep it short?"

"Suffering, my ass," Romano snorted. "He's probably just lonely and needs attention." He remembered that night that the albino potato had dropped by for a visit – and Prussia _had_ been lonely; he'd said so. Romano had been lonely too. But now things were going extremely well for him and England. Maybe he could be a little charitable to the albino bastard. "Yeah," he sighed. "Tell him to come over. But he can _not_ spend the night!"

Before returning to the phone call England kissed him, deeply, with lots of tongue. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, leaving Romano breathless as he swaggered into the other room again.

Damn right he'd make it up to him. Romano flopped onto the sofa to adjust himself and wait.

…

"So, what's the actual crisis?" England handed Prussia a glass of wine.

He sighed and sat next to the scowling Romano on the couch. "Turkey, of course."

"What now? What did you do to the bastard?"

"That's so unfair. Why do you assume it's my fault?" But the crimson eyes closed briefly, as if for strength. "Maybe it is. I – I wanted to talk to England, so, don't be an ass tonight, okay, Romano? Just let me talk."

"Romano will behave. Tell us what's wrong with Turkey."

"We've been having so much fun together," the albino sighed. "Ever since that day he asked me out. We've gone to movies, played paintball, gone to the beach and an amusement park and hang-gliding and all kinds of shit."

"Well?" Romano did try to be nice. He did! But this was _Prussia._ Dammit, his whole weekend had been ruined by this.

Or maybe not. Maybe England's payback would make it worthwhile. He smirked and sat back against the cushions.

"Turkey…well, he said it was a date, right? That day at breakfast? He did say the actual word 'date,' am I right?" Prussia appealed to both of them.

"Yeah, that's what he said. I almost spit my fucking coffee," Romano agreed.

"Er, well, I actually don't think he did." England paced and thought. "He asked you to dinner, right? And then he said something about the frog."

"Said France thought we would have fun together. Yeah. But he's not treating me like a date! I mean, he hasn't even tried to kiss me, not once!" Prussia's voice rose to a wail, and it was all Romano could do not to burst out in laughter. He coughed into his hand, instead, catching a warning look from England (of course the bastard would know he wanted to laugh).

"So you're just doing all this recreational shite?" England wondered, pacing a little. "Did you try to – to kiss him?" He blushed a bit. Romano grinned and forced another cough.

"Yeah, a couple of times, but I guess my timing was bad or something. I couldn't get him to stand still long enough, and I felt like an idiot trying to say something. _Scheisse_," Prussia groaned, sinking his head into his hands. "This is asinine."

"Maybe the frog and Spain just have no talent at picking dates. This was part of some mission, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure I understand, bastard. You do want him to kiss you?" Romano had to cough again. "Or not?"

"Don't be stupid. I don't want to date someone who's not interested in me physically. And I don't want to force him to kiss me, because what's the point? If you don't feel it, you don't feel it!"

England and Romano both nodded. Both of them knew how that could be.

"I guess I'm just trying to figure out what the hell he wants. Does he actually want to date? Is kissing a guy taboo in his country? Maybe he just wants to have fun with a friend?"

"Shit. How could we tell?"

The blond shook his head. "Not really any way _to_ tell. I don't think kissing a bloke is taboo, though."

"Yeah, I know. That was just an example." Prussia finished his wine.

"Break up with him," Romano suggested.

"How can I break up with him if I'm not even sure we're dating?"

"Listen, just listen. How many times have you wankers done stuff together, since that morning? Three? Four?"

"It's been ten days! We've done ten things!"

"You see the masked bastard _every day_ and he still hasn't kissed you? Pfft. He's not interested, stupid."

"Don't be so cold, Romano," England warned him.

"Ah, sorry, bastard, I wasn't meaning to be cold. I'm just calling it how I see it."

"I know. I know you're right. What the hell should I do?"

"Well." England paced a bit more. "Who's making the dates? You or him?"

"Me, mostly," the albino mumbled. "He asked me for that first one, and the second one was Thursday night after the meeting. After that it was always me. That's why we're not doing anything tonight. I was too conflicted, and really wanted to talk to you, England." He turned to Romano. "I hope you don't mind."

"Cheh, I'll get over it. We have all the time in the world." When he was sure Prussia wasn't looking, he smiled and licked his lips slowly, watching his lover blush intensely. Adorable bastard. "But, uh, why didn't you want to talk to the pervert and Spain about it?"

"Are you kidding me? Sheesh! It was their project. You know what it'd do to their egos if I told them Turkey was a fail? Besides, I'm not supposed to know about the project."

England cleared his throat. "Well, just take a break from it. See if he calls you."

Prussia leaned back and thought about this. "I could do that. I've got some work shit going on with West this week that'll keep me busy."

"Maybe it's just hard for him to get started. Give it another week. I think Romano's right. Let it slide, see if he calls you. Who knows? Maybe you should ask the git point-blank if he's looking for a boyfriend."

"Nah. That sounds too desperate. I'll just see what happens this week."

"Are you strong enough to take it?" Romano wondered.

Prussia snorted. "Are you kidding me? I'm awesomely strong." He bared his teeth and his bicep, making both his friends laugh.

"Keep me posted," England nodded. "I'll try to help, unless it gets to be meddling."

"I don't think it'd go that far. Maybe he and I just aren't meant to be together."

"So much for the tomato bastard's mystery scheme!"

"In all honesty I think it was France's idea." Prussia got up and shook Romano's hand. "I told them they needed to look out for me. Maybe Turkey was just the first person on the list."

"Sucks, though," Romano said cheerfully, now that he knew Prussia was leaving. "If he was the first. That means there's only, what, Ukraine, Vietnam…hell, there's nobody after Vietnam, is there? Shit, you'd better hope Turkey wasn't the first on the list."

"Why? Ukraine or Vietnam could be really awesome to date! Kesesese!" He hugged England and shook Romano's hand again. "Thanks for listening to me, guys. I'm glad you're together! I'm so glad."

"Are you going to be all right tonight?" Dammit, why was he even asking? What if the stupid idiot decided he wanted to stay?

But no. "Yeah. West and Veneziano are cooking some fancy dinner and invited me, but I had to get this off my chest. I'm actually surprised they didn't invite you two," he realized.

"They did, stupid. We had better things to do." Romano winked at England, who shook his head in dismay.

"Well, anyway, thanks for listening," Prussia repeated, as they walked him to the door.

"Take care, git. Keep me in the loop."

"Will do. Bye!" Prussia waved as he danced down the front steps.

Romano waited a respectable ten seconds before slamming the door shut. "Dammit."

"Eh. Forget him. We can talk about him tomorrow."

"Mm, yes, all right." This as England began kissing him. "What do you have in mind? Do you still want to watch the movie?"

"Screw the bloody movie," England growled, scooping him up and carrying him up to the bedroom.

"Wait! Bring the caramels!"

…

_I'm heading on vacation for a while, so I don't know when the next update will be. Thank you all for reading, and special thanks to those of you who leave reviews. It's helpful to get feedback from people. _


	40. Chapter 40

"Guess that didn't work out," Romano laughed, elbowing England as they sat. "Did the bastard ever talk to you about that?" He gestured towards Prussia with his chin, Prussia who was sitting alone near the back of the room, waving and grinning at everyone.

"No. I assumed it was all proceeding correctly. Where's Turkey?"

They finally found him about midway up the enormous Norwegian conference table, chatting with Japan. "Hah."

"Prussia doesn't look too broken up about it, though." And it was true. The albino caught England's eye and waved frantically; the blond snorted.

"Well, if he's happy...Let's talk to him about it at lunchtime."

England tweaked his nose. "Nosy! You really are one of the nosiest wankers around here, love."

Romano tried to backpedal. "That's not it at all! I'm just – just concerned about the bastard." The two of them looked at each other and burst into laughter, startling Latvia, who sat across the table from them.

"Yes, I'll accept that's what you mean," England whispered, as Norway rose to open the meeting.

…

"Kesesese! Well, you guys were totally right. He wasn't looking for a boyfriend. Not his style, he said. So, no big deal; we'll still hang out from time to time, but now I'm free to search for somebody more compatible." Prussia beamed at them over lunch.

The three sat in the corner of a hotel restaurant. Normally Romano would have been pissed off about this, because the weather was warming up and he wanted to get back to his "street vendor lunches" with England, but he couldn't stand not knowing what had happened with the albino potato. "I'm guessing you found someone, from the chirpy way you've been acting all day?" he asked.

"Yes!" He lowered his voice. "Once again it's a France and Spain idea. They were so ham-fisted about broaching the topic – because it's Ukraine and they still feel a man should make the first move with a woman – but it was hilarious to listen to them try to coax me to ask her, without telling me about their project." He sat back in his chair. "They really are strategically inept."

England laughed. "You don't need to tell _me._ So – Ukraine? Been dating long?"

"Just twice."

"Why aren't you sitting with her?" nosy Romano wondered. "Why aren't you having lunch with her, for that matter?"

"Ah, she's a little shy about what Russia might say or do. He's okay with us dating, but she doesn't want to push it. But we're both really looking forward to the big party Norway's throwing on Wednesday! I haven't been dressed formally in a long time, and I look so damn good in black."

Romano smirked. Yes, this Wednesday evening Norway was hosting a large formal dance party type of thing; just a little something to break up the monotony, he'd said. Luckily he'd given advance notice, so everyone could bring formalwear. The Italian had brought his favorite tuxedo – and he knew he looked damn hot in it – and he was half out of his mind trying to picture how good England would look. Dammit. "But you're having fun?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Being nice to her?"

"Awesomely nice! I am a gentleman when I need to be, you know. And she's so much more fun than everybody gives her credit for. Oh, she's a follower, not a leader. Not like _Hungary_," he practically spat. "But I'm an awesome leader, and she's happy to follow my ideas! So far we've been to the movies and dinner one night, and to see some Russian fireworks on another night."

"She's not too hung up on Russia?"

"Pfft. You're getting her mixed up with Belarus, Romano! She's fine!"

England nodded. "That's good. Well, we'll look forward to seeing the two of you at the party, anyway. She's a beautiful girl. Congratulations, git."

"Kesesese! Thanks, old man!"

…

"Dammit," Romano moaned, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the tails of his tux shirt out of the way. "One of these days you're going to have to give me some pointers on this." He threw his head back and savored the sensations.

The kneeling England stopped what he was doing. "You don't know how to do this?" he wondered.

"Shut up and don't stop now, bastard! We're going to be late!"

…

Norway had arranged the setting dramatically. Unlit but for small clusters of track lighting in the corners and a single crystal chandelier in the center, the ballroom's edges were ringed with red-velvet-clad buffet tables; servers in matching red and white circulated with drinks and canapés for everyone. Music, provided by a small orchestra, remained unobtrusive, so that conversation could continue, and the mood was merry.

Romano and England stood in a corner of this excited throng and observed for a while, forgotten drinks warming in their hands. "All those couples from Valentine's Day still together?"

England squeezed his hand. "I don't give a damn, as long as we are."

"Stupid. You know we will be." The half-nation glanced around the room. "There's a new one. Cuba with Cameroon?"

The blond laughed. "That's got to be strange. Cameroon's all about the sports; Cuba's a lazy git! Maybe they're just hanging out together."

"Maybe Cameroon's trying to get him to start working out. Hey, there's the albino potato with Ukraine. Whew," Romano whistled. "She's such a mouse sometimes that I always forget how hot she is."

Ukraine did indeed look sexy in her little black dress and gold high heels. Prussia, also in black, looked much the same as usual, grinning vacantly around the room as if he were the star of the show. They watched him lead her to greet Russia first; it seemed to England that Prussia was forcing himself to be polite, but at this distance he really couldn't tell. Russia smiled as usual, and after a few minutes of conversation the crimson eyes swept the room and the albino hurriedly led Ukraine to them. "Hey, guys," he laughed.

"Prussia," Romano acknowledged. He took the smiling Ukraine's hand and kissed it. "You look wonderful tonight," he said to her in his low, flirty tone.

She blushed terrifically and giggled behind her other hand. "Thank you, Romano!"

"She looks wonderful all the time," Prussia agreed.

England shook hands with both of them, feeling a bit stupid since he'd not complimented her. But anything he'd say now would sound idiotic! "Place is done up nicely," he said instead, hoping for some generic conversation.

"Yeah! Man, Norway, you don't think of him as being a partier, but this is really sweet. Come on, babe, let's get some drinks." With a wink to his friends Prussia dragged his date away again.

"He's going to rip her fucking arm off."

"You were bloody sensual there, complimenting her. Why don't you ever talk to me like that?"

"England," Romano intoned, leaning close with a mocking grin, "you are the most desirable man at this gathering."

"Git." The blond squeezed his hand again. "Let's get some fresh drinks."

"All right." They handed their warm wine glasses to a passing server and wandered to the bar, greeting friends as they went. "Hey, there's your pal Denmark. Not dating anyone?"

England picked up a drink before turning. "Doubt it. He's almost always been with Norway, but of course Norway's with Canada now. I don't think Den really minds much. At least, if he did, he wouldn't show it unless he was hammered. Let's go say hi."

"Sure, I don't mind." Together they crossed the ballroom, where Sweden and Finland were the only ones dancing, and greeted the Viking. "Hey, bastard."

"Hi!" Denmark raised the glass he'd just picked up. _"__Skål!"_

"You look smashing," the island nation told him. Taller than everyone but Sweden and Russia, Denmark's hairstyle gave him a little height advantage. In his dark suit, with his healthy complexion, he looked even more dramatic than the washed-out Prussia. England grinned.

"Thanks. Anything exciting going on?"

"Pfft. The albino potato's here with Ukraine, but otherwise there doesn't seem to be anything new going on."

"Ukraine? I thought he was dating Turkey?" The Dane scratched his head.

"Eh, that didn't work out. But apparently this new relationship is good." England nodded towards the couple in question.

"This another one of Spain and France's ideas?"

"So the bastard tells us. We'll see how long it lasts." Romano finished his drink and set it on the tray of another passing server.

The musicians struck up a new tune; Norway and Canada also began to dance. Hm. Maybe they could dance a little, too. Might as well ask. "You going to dance with me tonight, Romano?"

"No fucking way, idiot."

England stared at him in amazement. So did Denmark. "Wh-why not?" the island nation managed. How could he be so cold?

"Dancing with a guy, in front of all these nosy bastards? Pfft."

Denmark raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You really are cold. I even used to go dancing _in public _with Norge, even though I hated it and felt stupid. I'll dance with you, England, if you like." He grinned, baring all his teeth. "How about it?"

But Romano turned to England with an expression of shock. "Uh! I – I'm sorry, ba—England, I didn't think about it that way. I – uh - sure, I'll – I'll dance with you, if you like?"

The panic and contrition on his face were almost comical to behold. Denmark turned away (presumably to hide a smile) but England simply thanked his friend and suggested that maybe later they could dance. Later, when people were otherwise occupied and not staring?

Romano nodded with a relieved grin. "Thanks," he whispered. "Sorry."

"'S all right, love," his friend whispered back. "I know you're just getting started with this kind of shite."

"I hate you, bastard," the brunet laughed, punching him in the arm.

"Yeah, I hate you too, Roma mine."

…

An hour later, when Denmark had finally gotten bored and wandered off, Romano was still not comfortable with the idea of dancing, so England pulled him out of the ballroom. "Where are you taking me? Bathroom?"

"No." Preoccupied, the island nation tugged on doorknobs of closets until he found one that opened, and checked it. Yes. It was empty of people. "Get in here." He pulled a big linen napkin from his jacket pocket and threw it on the floor.

"What? What the fuck?" But Romano followed him into the closet; England immediately grabbed him and began kissing him furiously. "Mph?"

"Shut it and kiss," the blond mumbled, tongue busy, hands working to undo his friend's pants.

"Are you nuts?" Romano pushed him away. "What if somebody walks in here?"

"Well, okay. Wait a moment." England shifted their positions until he had his back to the door, and then sat on the floor. "How's this? Sit down. Or," he smiled archly, "I could save it until later?"

Romano rolled his eyes and sank to the floor, shifting until his back was nestled against the blond's front. He leaned his head back onto England's shoulder and grunted, "We're here. You might as well do it, you evil teasing bastard."

…

Out in the ballroom, Prussia was beginning to get a little frustrated, holding Ukraine close to dance, feeling her soft warmth against him. "Let's get some fresh air," he whispered to her, giving her ear a delicate kiss; she smiled softly and nodded.

But instead of leading them outdoors, the albino took her into the hallway of the large hotel where the dance was being held. "Where are we going?" she whispered.

Prussia didn't answer as he tried several closet doors, but many of them were locked. He reached for the next one, but Ukraine tugged his hand back. "Prussia, what are we doing?"

"Kesesese! You're so hot tonight! I just wanted to fool around a little." He gave her a passionate kiss, one hand groping until it found the doorknob.

At first, she responded eagerly, but then – "Oh, I don't want to – to do anything in a _closet,_ Prussia! That's so downmarket!" Her voice was low and trembling.

"What else do you want? I can't afford to book a separate hotel room." He let his hand fall.

"But – but if brother Russia found out, he might – he might –"

"I can deal with Russia." Though he wasn't really sure of that. Not on a topic like this one. "Come on, sweetie, let me make you feel good." He reached for the door again while trying to kiss her at the same time.

Ukraine bit her lip and backed off a bit. "N-no. L-let's wait until we're somewhere safer? More discreet?" Her voice was wobbly. Damn it all, he hoped she wouldn't cry!

"Fine," he snapped, turning from the closet door and stalking back to the ballroom, not even waiting for her. Damn! Was the shadow of Russia going to loom over her – _them – _for the rest of her life? Maybe this relationship wasn't such a good idea.

But he had to be a gentleman. He stopped walking, turned, and waited for her to catch up. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Ah, forget it. Let's go talk to people." He took her hand again and pulled her back into the ballroom.

…

Inside the closet, unaware of the hallway drama, Romano leaned back against England, drained. "Shit."

"Pfft. That's gratitude, that is."

The brunet nestled closer. "Stupid. You know what I meant. I just – well – I have to ask, why are you being so sexy all the time? Frustrated after all that time a-alone?" He faltered. He'd never known whether England had stayed celibate after America. "Or maybe I'm just too fucking irresistible?" Yeah, that was probably it.

England smoothed his hair and reached around to fix his trousers. "Just trying to make you happy, wanker. I know you're a sex-crazed lunatic. You should know I'm happy to satisfy you whenever you want. Just say the word."

Romano turned and stared. "You're insane."

"What? What now?"

"You really think I need to get my rocks off all the time, just to be happy with you?" He put his arms around England's neck. "Bastard, I'm happy just to sit around and shoot the shit with you, or even just sit around without talking, on a damn park bench. I don't need you to be – be servicing me all the time."

"You don't like it?" But there was a hint of a laugh in England's voice, so Romano wasn't too worried.

"I like it a lot," he admitted. "But it shouldn't be the focus of the relationship."

"Aw. Little Romano's growing up."

"Shut up, you stupid sexy fucker."

"All right."

But this brought up another concern to the drowsy brunet. "Do – do you think it's too much, for me to do all that romantic stuff?" He bit his lip and snuggled closer. Mm, the bastard was warm.

"It's always very sweet, but I do know it's a stretch for you." England kissed his hair.

"I know," he yawned. "But you like it, so…"

"Listen, love, don't torture yourself. I won't go overboard on satisfying your drives, and you don't have to go overboard on romance. All right? Let's just be who we are."

"Mm, okay, bastard." He closed his eyes and fell asleep, feeling the strong arms around him.

…

By the time they left the closet, cramped and rumpled, most of the party guests had departed. "Better say goodbye to our hosts."

Romano yawned. "Yeah. Well, at least I got out of the damn dancing!" He laughed and dodged the punch England sent his way. "Sorry. I really will try to master this shit."

"You're fine as you are, Romanito. Just relax and enjoy."

Quick surveillance showed Romano that no one was looking; he kissed his friend hastily on the cheek. "Deal, bastard."

The blond laughed. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

…


	41. Chapter 41

Prussia offered his arm to Ukraine as they walked the short distance from the party to the hotel. "I miss Poland," she said, out of nowhere.

"What?" He couldn't imagine what had prompted this. "He was just at the party! You – you wanted to talk to him, or something?"

She smiled at him in the dark. "Prussia, do you remember…do you remember how peaceful it used to be, in our part of the world? Poland between us, everyone minding their own business?"

He grinned. "I didn't mind my own business much."

"True!" She giggled. "But I sort of miss the way Poland used to be, back then. A little crazy, disorganized, helpless…he even made me feel a little stronger, because at least I had everything under control."

"Ah, the real Poland is still there." But he was still frantically wondering what all this was about. "He just fights to keep it undercover a lot."

"Yes. Don't we all," she sighed.

"Don't we all what? Keep the old personality undercover? Kesesese! I don't!" He let go of her and twirled around on the sidewalk, making her laugh again. "Just enjoy life, Ukraine! Don't worry about how anyone perceives you." He hurried back to her and kissed her cheek. "You're fine."

"You're so exuberant, Prussia. And I know you're right. You've never troubled to deceive people about your real nature. I admire that about you."

Surprisingly, this made him blush, and he muttered, "Th-thank you."

"But I can't let go that way. I have to work at bringing my country into the modern time! We're still perceived as so old-fashioned." She bit her lip.

Damn. He knew this was some dig at his actual ex-nation status. Of course _he_ didn't have to work at bringing his country into the modern time, or in fact, at anything else. All he had to do was keep on West's good side, and not let people forget him. Why did everyone always have to sneak around mentioning this? Even Romano was always goading him about it, and Romano was his friend. Sort of.

By now the hotel loomed ahead. Prussia decided not to speak further on this topic. This evening had been so disappointing: first because his date wouldn't fool around with him, and now because of this personality bullshit talk. Ah, he'd get her to her room, and head to his own room, which he was sharing with India, and sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

What he didn't realize was that Ukraine's last comment had been a plea for reassurance, and that his failure to respond created the first real crack in their fledgling relationship.

…

"So, what do you think?" Romano asked, as they got back to the hotel room and began to disrobe. "You know him pretty well. Think the albino potato and Ukraine can seriously make a go of it?"

England shrugged. "The thing about Prussia…well…look at it this way. I'm a romantic, yeah? You, you're not, by nature, but I think you feel it, you just don't know how to show it, or you don't want to because you feel funny doing it." Romano nodded; his friend kept speaking. "America – totally clueless. It doesn't even occur to him when someone _tells_ him to do it. But with Prussia, it's as if he knows he ought to be romantic, and he knows the types of things to do, so he does them. Goes through the motions, like an actor with a script. He doesn't actually mean it. He just does it because it's expected of him, or because it gets results. I'm not really sure he can maintain her interest."

Romano paused in the act of taking off his boots. "Did you ever date the bastard?"

"Pfft. Briefly. _Very_ briefly. I think we went on two dates, and that was the end of it. Bloody insufferable git."

Despite his anxiety about England's past history, this made Romano smile. Yeah, that shit was all in the past. Nothing to worry about. "Don't know, though. She is kind of vacant sometimes. Maybe that's just what he needs. Like he said, someone to follow his lead."

By this point England was down to his underwear, so he lay on the hotel bed, frowning thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Then there's Russia to consider, too. You know she's so deferential to him – even what Prussia said at lunch the other day confirms that. But I know the git's still scarred from his time behind the Iron Curtain. If he has to deal with Russia on any kind of a regular basis I'm guessing he'll ditch her. Nicely, but nonetheless."

"Do you think he'll keep looking for someone? I mean, if the matchmaking bastards keep pushing him, would he do it?"

"Hah. Yes, probably, if only for a lark. I suspect he'd be fairly careful with anyone, so as not to alienate them for the future, though."

"Half the nations in the world probably wouldn't want to bother, though. If they don't like that noisy self-centered shit." Romano finally hung everything up and joined him, stretching. "Hey, maybe we should find someone for him. We know a lot of nations…?"

"Forget it! I'm not getting involved. If we suggest something and it doesn't work out, the other person's likely to hate us. If you want to try it, be my guest, but – not me. Absolutely not."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Could be messy."

They lay side by side, silently thinking for a while. Romano thought his friend had fallen asleep, and he was about to get up and shut off the lights, when England suddenly spoke. "I think we need to work something out."

The brunet stared at him in alarm. "What? What?"

England took his hand. "Calm down, love. Nothing too serious. About this sex and romance rubbish."

"What do you mean, rubbish? You're the one who's always on about the romantic shit."

"Listen. Let's talk about it. I know we did, a little, when we left the party, but you were somewhat sleepy, and I want to explain something to you." England rolled onto his side, letting go, and propped himself up on an elbow. "Thanks to you, I – I've realized something, and I think you need to know it."

"Bastard, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared! It's a good thing. I just – " The island nation flopped onto his back again and blew out a sigh. "You know how I used to feel, right? About the gifts and things? I always thought that the perfect relationship had to involve a near-constant mutual gift exchange. Or if not gifts, then flowers, cards, or whatever. _Things._ I always believed that this showed how devoted a couple could be. That they were constantly thinking of each other and showing little proofs of their love."

"But that's bullshit, because you were with America for so long and you said he never did that crap. If you thought that was really true, then it wasn't love."

"I know, all right? Hear me out." He reached for Romano's hand again; the brunet raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Mm. Well, with you, I really don't feel that it's necessary."

"Bastard. What the fuck are you trying to say? I'm not worth it?"

"Oh, shut it, wanker. You didn't let me finish. I mean that in my heart, I know that you're thinking of me."

"Of course I am, you idiot. I'd rather be with you than anyone else in the world."

"I know! And I feel that way about you, too. So, because of that – because I_ know_ that you feel this way, I don't really feel the urge to get gifts or send cards or any of that. It was always my way of trying to force America to pay attention to me, but of course he rarely did. It wouldn't increase _your_ level of attention, because that's already very high. I would rather have a quick email from you, or even just a wink at the conference table, than any amount of presents. Do you see what I mean? Though I'm still happy to send you things, if you like that, but I no longer feel it's a requirement on my end of things."

"Yes. And I'm damn glad of it, too." Here Romano explained all the prep work he'd done for England's Rome visit, making his friend laugh and hug him. "I'd do it, if it made you happy, but since you aren't craving all that shit any more, I would rather not have to constantly be dreaming up ways to soothe that part of you. It's a lot of work!"

"I'd certainly not wish to stress you out." The blond pressed little kisses to Romano's chest. "As I said earlier, you're perfect as you are. Just do what you like. We grew close without any of that, so I can't really see it's a problem."

Mocking the tone his friend had used at the party, Romano chortled, "Aw. Little England's growing up."

"Git."

"Uh, though, we might as well talk about sex." He blushed and ran a hand over his face. Dammit, why was he always the one who had to bring up the awkward topics? Because he was the fucking former sex maniac, of course. Shit.

"What do you want to talk about? Experimentation?" England gave an eager smile and tweaked a bare nipple. "Let's get to it!"

Romano slapped his hand away, laughing. "No, listen, bastard. What I meant was just what you said. Be-because of how I was with Spain, I always thought it was important to have sex all the time. I thought that meant compatibility and love. Then later I learned it just meant that the dumb tomato brain liked to have sex. You – you know all the trouble I had with those other bastards." He blushed again, remembering how eagerly he'd bragged of his conquests to England, all those dumb bets. What an ass he could be sometimes. Clearing his throat, he began again. "What I'm trying to say is that sex isn't everything."

"No! Really?"

"God, you are insufferable. Shut the fuck up and let me finish." He flicked his sassy friend in the forehead and continued. "I'm happy that you and I are compatible, and it seems like we please each other in bed?" He looked to England for a confirming nod, and got it. "But I don't want to spend all our time fucking like rabbits. There's so much else we could be doing that's fun. Like you said, we grew close without that, so we don't need to push it. Let's just do it when the mood takes us, okay? Don't overexert yourself to – to satisfy me night and day."

"It's really not my style," the blond agreed, laughing once more. "Not that constant physical shite."

"Good. Turn out the light and hold me, and let's go to sleep."

"Are we all through with this discussion? We understand each other?" England got up and turned off the light.

"I understand it, bastard, but do you?"

"Well, now, it all depends." England came back to the bed. "You've had two orgasms tonight, and I haven't had any. Is this why you suddenly want to slack off on the lovemaking?" But he was laughing so hard that Romano had no concerns at all.

Instead, he punched his friend in the shoulder. "Shut up and get ready, idiot. I'm going to service you now, and you're going to like it."

"We'll see…_ow!"_

…

_I just finished reading Robert K. Massie's "Catherine the Great" so all that Prussia-Poland-Russia stuff is swirling around in my head._


	42. Chapter 42

Prussia slouched off to his room after dropping Ukraine off, checking his watch. Ha, it was just barely midnight! Maybe he'd go down to the hotel bar…yeah, why not? He changed direction and then stopped again. In a tux? Maybe that would look stupid.

Standing in the hallway, eyes unfocused, he thought about this, and then decided to go anyway. It wasn't worth changing his clothes for this, but he wasn't yet ready to go back to his room and mope around. If there was nobody fun at the bar, he'd go back, but he was a bit antsy after all his Ukraine-based ups and downs tonight, and a quiet drink or two with a low-key nation would be great.

As he approached the bar he could hear shouting. Whoa! Bar fight? "Awesome," he laughed aloud, breaking into a trot. Who cared whether his tux got ruined in a bar fight? He'd just make West buy him a new one. He hurried into the bar area and skidded to a halt when he saw Denmark and Swissy shouting at each other. Damn! Both of them were his friends, so it might not be a good idea to interfere. They must have left the fancy party a while ago, he realized, because they'd both changed into casual clothes. Prussia could see Swissy's holstered Luger; well, that was good. At least he wasn't about to shoot Den. The albino stepped back to watch and see what would happen.

But Switzerland calmed down. Darting his eyes around the room, worried as usual about the impression he was making, the Alpine nation dropped his tone of voice and let his hand rest on the grip of the pistol. "Forget it," he hissed to Den, his eyes on the frightened bartender. "Do it yourself." He turned and stalked out of the bar, not even acknowledging Prussia's nervous little wave of greeting.

Denmark, whose back was to the albino, still stood in a menacing pose, hands clenched into fists, arms akimbo, but as Prussia watched, his adrenaline began to subside, and he started to relax. The bartender blew out a sigh of relief; once Den had sagged into a less-aggressive stance, Prussia decided he could approach. "Hey, Den," he grinned. He'd pretend he hadn't seen Swissy. Whatever they were fighting about, either Denmark would tell him, or he wouldn't. "What's up? You left the party early."

The Viking took a moment to focus but then regained his ease. "Uh? Hey. Yeah, I was bored. Thought there might be somebody around here who was bored, too. What about you? Did you stay to the end? Norge usually does good parties, but tonight…eh." He gestured towards a table and the two of them sat. "You look good in that tux."

"Kesesese! Thanks. But I look good in everything, you know." He decided to pay for the drinks. Maybe they could still get a good bar fight out of the evening. He reached up and took off his bowtie, flinging it on the table.

After the new drinks came, he blurted out, "So what was up with Swissy?" Whoops. So much for keeping quiet.

"Pfft. He and I left the party at the same time, so when he asked me to meet him for a drink I figured it wasn't a bad idea. Wrong! That guy is so uptight! How did you ever stand him?"

"Stand what? I never dated him, you know. I took Austria away from him a lot, but never dated him."

"Huh. I always thought you two were ex-lovers. No wonder he didn't agree to my idea." The tall blond leaned back and surveyed the still-active bar area.

"What was your idea?"

"Hah. I wanted to prank you."

"Prank _me?_ What for?" Prussia was completely dumbfounded.

"Why not? I'm just feeling sort of stupid and irritable lately, and I thought a good prank would cheer me up."

Prussia broke into an evil grin. "I have an idea," he said slowly. "Let's prank Romano and Iggy."

"What, you and me? Yeah, I could work with that. What do you have in mind?"

The albino leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, if we can get them to go to dinner with us…" he began, outlining a plan. "It's pretty basic, but I bet they'd fall for it."

"Hmm. Yeah. We could do this. Let's talk."

"Kesesese!"

Half an hour later the plan was fairly firm. "Tomorrow night?" Den asked, laughing.

"Sure." Prussia threw some kroner on the table to pay for the drinks and grabbed his bowtie. "I'm going up to get out of this dumb tux. See you in the morning?"

"Yeah." The Dane followed him out of the bar. "Think they'll fall for it?"

"Not sure. You know how England is."

"Yeah, but I don't know Romano very well. What if he gets pissed off?"

"Kesesese! It'll be awesome. He's like a little firecracker when he gets really mad." Prussia considered this. "But I wouldn't worry. So, all four of us for dinner tomorrow night? It'll cost a lot to do it right, but we can do it. We just need to find some restaurant where they have what we need, and no pasta."

"Don't worry! I know just the place," Den assured him, clapping him on the shoulder as the elevator arrived.

…

In the morning Prussia washed up, dressed in his uniform, and bounded merrily into the meeting room, grinning at everyone, but especially at England. "Hello, my dear friend," he said, patting the island nation on the shoulder and sitting next to him. "Where's Romano?"

"Letting him sleep late. He was wiped out last night. Sitting with Ukraine today?"

Prussia blinked. In the excitement about the new prank, he'd completely forgotten about Ukraine! "Uh," he started, but then saw her across the room and blew her a kiss; she blushed. "Not sure yet. Have to ask her."

"Well? Go ask her! Stop pestering me."

"You're crabby today. What happened? Did you two have a fight?" _Scheisse,_ if they had, the prank would be impossible.

"What? No. I'm always crabby in the mornings, git. Now go." England drank all the rest of his tea in one big gulp.

"Yeah, yeah." The albino stood up. "Want to go to dinner with me and Denmark tonight? You and Romano, I mean."

The blond began laughing. "We have to promise to behave. He's a little worried about our predilection for bar fights."

"Kesesese! Yeah, all right, I just meant dinner. We haven't spent much time together lately."

England nodded. "All right. I'll convince Romano later."

That was good. Now all he needed to do was give Ukraine the brush-off…temporarily, of course. "Awesome! See you." Prussia skipped over to Ukraine and plopped down in the chair next to her. "Hello, beautiful."

She blushed again. "Prussia, please…" She took his hand under the table.

"Please what? I'd love to please you, baby," he said automatically, but his eyes were sweeping the room for Denmark and he ignored her as she began to talk to him. He hoped they were still on for the prank, but if not, at least he could have a fun dinner with England and Romano. He'd find some way to tease the Italian, and –

"Prussia!" Ukraine stopped talking and jogged his elbow. "Wake up!"

"Uh? Oh, man. Was I half asleep again?" He smiled at her. He'd better pay attention. Plans could be made later, regarding dinner logistics.

"Are we going to dinner tonight?" she asked in a whisper.

Oh, _fuck._

"Because brother Russia wants to take me and Belarus to dinner."

Oh. Good.

"Do you want to come with us?" she asked politely.

Hah! As if. "Thank you, my sweetie, but I wouldn't encroach on your family dinner. You go, and have a good time. We can go to lunch, or make dinner plans for tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow's the last day of the meeting, though," she reminded him. "I'm leaving for home at the end of the day."

"Oh. Oh, right, so am I. Forgot. Well, come to lunch with me today. We can make plans for the weekend?" His eyes scanned the room again, and he finally spotted Den, busy making up a breakfast plate. Cool.

"Yes, all right," she told him, looking downcast.

"Don't look so sad! Lunch will be fun." He stood up and pushed the chair in. "I'm going to sit with Denmark, okay? I'll meet you at the lunch break."

"O-okay, Prussia." Ukraine smiled weakly one last time at him, and then he bounded off to Den's side.

…

"Why are we having dinner with you bastards?"

Denmark patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, why not? The four of us haven't been together since Christmas."

Interesting, Prussia thought. Both those loverboys started blushing. Hah! He wondered just what had happened at Christmastime, what he'd missed. Instead of asking, he said, "Den tells me this is one of the best steak houses in town."

"Seems a bit downmarket for the 'best steak house.'" England's green eyes gazed around the room, taking in the details of the shabby carpet, faded curtains.

"At least it's clean." Romano shrugged and picked up a menu. "I do love good steak."

"Kesesese! Who doesn't?" Excellent. Everything was right on track.

"I'll be right back. Order me a beer, will you, when they come for the drinks order?" Denmark got up and walked towards the rest room. Prussia was careful not to look at him, in case either of them burst out laughing.

"How's he doing?" England asked Prussia. "You know."

"Pfft. Yeah, I know. Seems pretty normal to me. But you know Den; if he had a problem, he'd never say anything."

"What the hell's wrong with the bastard?"

"Nothing!" both the others snapped. "Sorry," England told Romano. "It's a vow of ours not to discuss our problems with each other."

Romano snorted. "Then why did you ask about him?"

"Because I'm concerned, that's all. Now, shut it, and pick out what you're going to eat."

"Yes, boss." Romano smirked at him and turned his attention back to the menu.

Denmark returned with the waiter, so they all ordered. England ordered pork chops, but the other three chose the house specialty, steak in a red wine sauce. Prussia smiled. Yeah, he wished Iggy had ordered the steak, but otherwise he couldn't have planned the prank better if he'd come right out and issued orders. Perfect.

The waiter left them. "So, how's Ukraine?" England asked. "Have a good time at the party last night?"

Prussia scowled a little, not noticing Romano's fierce blush. "Ah, she's – she's not too adventurous, you know? We, ah, we hung around for a long time, just dancing and talking to people." He brightened. "But man, is she sweet to dance with!"

"Pfft. Pervert."

"Oh, shut up, Romano. I didn't mean so I could feel her up! I meant because she dances well."

England sighed at this. "No problems with Russia yet?"

Prussia had bitten off some bread, so he hastily chewed and swallowed before answering. "N-no. He's taking her and Belarus to dinner tonight."

"That's why you're here pestering us?" Romano smirked at him. "Don't think you're going to get me to do anything stupid tonight."

Denmark finally spoke up. "Hey, just relax, will you? Relax and eat."

They spoke of inconsequential subjects until the food arrived. "I _love_ a good steak," Prussia moaned, looking at his dish. "West is kind of – well –"

"A cheapskate?" Romano laughed. "But – but this isn't steak," he realized, frowning at his plate. "I don't know what this is." He prodded it with a fork.

"Looks okay to me," Den said easily, poking it. "Eat it."

Prussia leaned over and looked at Romano's plate. "Looks good to me. Look!" He pointed to his own plate. "Eat it!"

Everyone shrugged and began to eat.

"B-bastards," Romano said hesitantly, after a moment. "I really don't think this is steak. It's way too salty."

"Kesesese! It's fine!"

England, across from the brunet, tried to look at it, but there was too much in the way, on the table. "Send it back, if you're not happy."

But Romano turned to Denmark, who happily chomped his food. "Do they do steak in some weird way here? I thought it would just be a plain steak, with the sauce."

Den eyed the meat. "Looks pretty normal to me. Here. Try mine." He extended a bit on his fork; Romano ate it.

"Cheh, I'm going to send it back," he decided. "It's too salty. The only way I could finish this is if I kept drinking all night, and I don't want to get smashed!"

"You're not a boozer," England agreed with a fond smile. He raised an arm to call the waiter over.

After Romano had sent the dish back (and the waiter had gently frowned, seeming puzzled), Denmark and England stopped eating while they waited for the replacement dish. "What are you two stopping for?" Prussia wondered, stuffing meat into his mouth.

"Manners?" the island nation suggested with a delicate snort.

"Oh! Right." He set his fork down and smiled angelically.

It didn't take long for the replacement plate to arrive. Romano frowned at the new dish, but thanked the waiter and cut into the meat; the others all resumed eating.

"Well?" England wondered. "Did they get it right?"

"I – I can't tell. I just had a drink before it got here. Let me cleanse my palate." He drank some water, swirling it around inside his mouth, and then reached for the fork again.

His three friends watched as he chewed and swallowed. "It, ah, it seems better, but still not like steak! Bastard, are you sure about this?" He turned to Denmark.

"Look, you and Prussia and I all ordered the same thing, and we all got the same thing. Right? Do you want to try some of Prussia's?"

Romano raised an eyebrow but took the forkful that Prussia extended. "Dammit, this isn't right." He pushed his plate aside. "Must be some weird Scandinavian shit. Weird seasoning or something."

"Would you like some of my pork chops?"

"N-no, thanks, bastard, I don't like them."

"Should we order something else for you? This is awesome," Prussia said, waggling his fork with the meat on it. "I haven't had steak like this in years."

Denmark snorted. Shit, if he started laughing, the others would know! Prussia tried to kick him under the table.

"Ow! Git. Why are you kicking me?"

"Sorry. My – my foot slipped."

"Let England try your steak," Den suggested. "At least he could tell you if something was wrong with it."

"Might as well." Romano raised a forkful to his friend, opposite him. The blond ate the meat.

"That's not steak. Romano's right; it's much too salty. Did they bring ham by mistake?"

"By mis-steak! Get it? Kesesese!" In this way Prussia hoped to avoid giving a direct answer, because they had indeed served ham, though not by mistake. Denmark had told the waiter that anyone ordering steak should be brought ham instead, and the waiters had done their job right. "Kesesese," he chuckled again.

Apparently that last little chuckle had been too much. Romano and England now stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Albino potato," the Italian began, "if you –"

"Just trade plates with me," Denmark butted in, saving the situation, swapping plates with Romano to distract him. "Mine tastes fine, and there's still a lot left." He settled the plates and began to eat Romano's portion.

The brunet was, in fact, distracted from Prussia, and he picked up his fork to eat.

For about three minutes, not a word was spoken; Romano slowly ate his meat and drank, and both the pranksters tried not to obviously watch this. England was intent on his pork chops, and didn't see any of this.

"Bastards," Romano moaned weakly again, with a delicate frown, pushing the plate away, but before he could go further, both Den and Prussia lost it, howling; Denmark's fork clattered onto his plate. "What the fuck? Is this some kind of joke?" He scowled.

England kicked Prussia under the table, making the laughter stop, though Den kept chuckling. "Ow. Don't kick. Uh, well, yeah, it was a prank. We were bored."

"You stupid bastards." Romano put his head in his hands.

"Hey, we would have done it to both of you, if you hadn't chosen pork chops," Denmark pointed out, ruffling England's hair.

"So – so what the fuck is this stuff? Liver?" Romano poked at it angrily.

"It's ham! Just ham steak, with sauce." Prussia waggled his eyebrows at the brunet, who kicked him. "Ow; I'm going to be so bruised!"

The half-nation frowned at both him and Den in turn. "You two really suck, you know that? I love ham! If you hadn't done this, I could have happily eaten it!"

This set Prussia and Den off again, as well as making England smile. Romano watched them all laughing, and finally shrugged, picking up his fork. "Watch it, bastards. I'm no mean prankster myself."

"Really? I had no idea." England raised his wine glass in a toast. "Let's brainstorm later. We'll get them back."

"You've got a deal." Romano began to eat.

Prussia finally ventured an "Uh?"

"Uh what, you moron?"

"Is that it? You're not going to throw a tantrum or anything? Man, I promised Den you'd explode when you found out." He felt severely disappointed in Romano's lack of reaction.

"I can control my anger, stupid."

"Well, _Scheisse._"

Denmark, finished with his meal, leaned over and punched Prussia. "You just need to come up with better ideas."

"What? What? Blame it all on me? You're a brute, Den," he responded, before realizing the other three were laughing. "Yeah, all right," he laughed in turn, throwing his napkin onto the table. "I just hope the four of us don't turn things into a pranking free-for-all."

"Could get someone else," England suggested. "All four of us, working something out. Four brains are better than two."

"Pfft. Don't count the albino potato as a full brain, idiot."

"Hey! Romano!"

But they were all laughing together. Ah, Prussia had known it would work out all right…

…until the check came, and Den handed it to _him_. "What? Why me?" He tried to pass it off to England, who shook his head no, and to Romano, who sat on his hands and smirked. "Man. Are you sure the three of you haven't been pranking me all night? Not awesome."

"I'll pay," Denmark laughed, taking the check and throwing cash on the table. "Let's go find a bar. You guys can buy the beers."

"I'll drink to that," Romano smirked, toasting Den with the last of his wine.

…

_I used an anagram to get a general idea for the prank. "Ham Violations" is an anagram of "Mathias Lovino."_

_Yes, this is getting a bit Skirmish-y. Hope that's all right._


	43. Chapter 43

Ukraine sat in misery at her so-called "family dinner." Oh, why hadn't Prussia come with them? Or better yet…why hadn't he pre-empted the dinner and taken her off somewhere alone? She knew he wasn't comfortable around brother Russia, and the albino and Belarus were always at each other's throats, so they tended to avoid one another. A quiet, romantic dinner with Prussia would have been so much nicer than this constant bicker-fest.

Belarus picked up a knife, almost absently, and waved it in her direction. "Why aren't you out with your obnoxious new boyfriend?" she asked.

Russia, to give him credit, tried to stop her from being nasty. "Belarus! Be nice. Prussia is not so bad, da?"

Ukraine blinked. That was an unexpectedly generous thing for him to say.

But Belarus scowled. "Brother, you know he can't compare to you." She flashed the knife in his direction.

Russia sighed. "No one can compare with me, sister. Put the knife down. You are frightening the waitstaff."

She threw the knife down; several apprehensive waiters jumped. "Brother Russia, do not sully yourself with praise for that idiotic ex-nation! It figures, that our sister can't do any better than him." She sneered at Ukraine, who managed not to burst into tears.

_Oh, Prussia,_ she thought, trying to hold herself together. How soon would this agonizing dinner be over?

…

Denmark whistled his way up to his room. Iceland, he suspected, wouldn't be back yet. He still raved about Liechtenstein, even though they'd been dating for a month or so. Ice wouldn't miss the chance to be romantic with her, even if he kept her out until three in the morning and fell asleep at the meeting the next day! Den just hoped his little brother wouldn't get into trouble with Swissy about her.

In fact, he'd assumed that was why Switzerland had asked him to meet for a drink, when they'd run into each other at the elevators after leaving the party yesterday. Assumed the Alpine nation needed to give a lecture about his little sister, and how the Nordics had better be good to her, or else. But Liechtenstein's name hadn't even come up in the conversation. Instead, Swissy had been somewhat tongue-tied, stammering a little when he talked, red-faced and ill-at-ease. They hadn't really spoken much. Denmark's idea of pranking Prussia had really only been something to break the ice and make the conversation flow a little more easily. But that hadn't worked either.

Entering the empty hotel room, he took off his jacket, dropped it on the floor, and stretched out on the bed, checking the clock. Pretty early – just gone midnight – so he let his mind detox a little from tonight's drinking and dinner. Too bad they couldn't have kept the prank up a little longer. He did want to see Romano explode! Hah, that would be fun. Well, now that Romano and England were dating, maybe the brunet would start tagging along when they went out drinking. They could come up with something to make him lose his temper. Yeah.

His thoughts drifted to Norge, who rarely lost his temper. His ex and Canada made a really great couple. He wondered why they'd never hooked up before. Quiet, intelligent, and above all, willing to do that girly shit? Perfect for each other. He snorted. Yeah, once in a while he missed having Norge around, but his old friend's happiness was the important thing.

Denmark thought about Norge and Canada, and then he thought about Ice and Liechtenstein again. And then he wondered, so suddenly that it made him sit bolt upright, whether Sw-Swissy had been interested in _him!_ "Shit," he laughed aloud. But could it be true? The gun-crazed nation after Denmark?

Well…he'd been acting very nervous. Like a guy with his crush? Maybe. Maybe Switzerland had just been nervous because he didn't know Den well, or because it was tough for him to behave properly, or something. But this idea amused Denmark greatly. He decided that in the morning, at the meeting, he'd try flirting with the petite blond, just to see what kind of reaction he'd get.

He laughed some more, covering his face with a pillow, imagining the looks on England's and Prussia's faces when he told them about this. Hilarious!

Purely as an intellectual exercise, he lay back again and tried to imagine a date with Switzerland. They'd go to the shooting range, probably – a good manly date – and then out to dinner somewhere. He'd need to ask his friends what kind of food and drink Swissy liked. Did he like to drink? Den realized he had no idea. But he knew that any kind of real relationship would have to be with someone who liked to drink and fight. Since Swissy carried a gun, he probably liked to fight, so that wouldn't be a problem.

Maybe Denmark would ask him to lunch tomorrow. A sort of prelude, feel him out, and not get embarrassed about it later. Yeah. After all, tomorrow, Friday, was the last day of the week-long meeting. If the lunch was a failure, they could go their separate ways and forget about things. And if it worked out, well, geographically, Switzerland wasn't too far from Denmark, so they could possibly get together this weekend!

"Awesome," he laughed one last time, getting up to wash up before bed. He hoped he'd be asleep before Ice came back. Didn't want to listen to a lot of chat about how wonderful Liechtenstein was. It might distract him from his date planning. Hah.

…

They got back to the hotel after midnight. Russia seemed as fed up as Ukraine, regarding Belarus, and he made a beeline for the elevators, but Belarus chased him, shouting, "Marry me! Marry me!"

Ukraine sagged against the lobby wall, feeling drained from trying to stay in control. She hated crying in front of Belarus, who always mocked her for it. The blonde closed her eyes to rest a moment – and to let her brother and sister go up in the elevator ahead of her – and felt a quiet touch on her shoulder. "Hello, beautiful! I've been waiting for you, kesesese!"

Her face split into a very happy smile. "Oh, Prussia!" She wrapped her arms around him, laughing, and he picked her up and spun her around in the lobby. "Oh!"

"Did you have a nice dinner?" He kissed her on the cheek. "You were gone a long time."

"It was a very bad dinner," she admitted, darting a glance towards the elevators to make sure neither of her siblings remained within earshot. "I kept thinking how much nicer it would have been if you'd been there."

"Nah," he laughed. "You know how uptight I get." He led her to a secluded bench in the hallway where they sat. "But I could have taken you to dinner instead, so you wouldn't have had to go with them. Sorry." They kissed deeply, and she felt happy that this unique man had taken a sudden interest in her.

"What did you do tonight? Did you have fun?" She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Ah, not bad, not bad. Went to dinner with Den, and England and Romano. We had fun, but it's not the same as being with you!" He patted her hair; she giggled, and they leaned together.

"I wish we didn't have a meeting tomorrow. I'm so, so tired; I had to be on such good behavior all night so that Belarus wouldn't goad me." She yawned.

"I know. But we have our weekend plans. I just wanted to see you before bed, make sure you were all right. Come on; I'll take you to your room, and see you in the morning?"

"Ah, Prussia, you are good to me." Though a little thought in the back of her mind pointed out that if he had truly wanted to be good to her, he wouldn't have let her suffer through the dinner alone.

But Ukraine, happy to have such an exuberant new boyfriend, pushed the thought right out of her mind, and kissed this handsome man as he led her towards the elevators.

After all, she considered, a good woman can easily change the nature of her man. Right?

…

_Ukraine is 100% wrong about that!_

_Yes, all of you are right; Den and Prussia will get together eventually, but they're so clueless that you can expect a lot of detours and road blocks before then._


	44. Chapter 44

Seated in the conference room, England and Romano breakfasted while waiting for Norway to start today's meeting. "_Biondo, _you have such a nice ass."

_"What?"_ England must have heard wrong.

"I said this tea tastes like shit." Romano smirked at him.

The blond laughed and kicked him under the table. "Git."

Denmark entered the room and waved; they waved halfheartedly back, and watched him hurry to fill a plate. "That bastard's not bad."

"Not bad at what?"

"Stupid. I meant I didn't really know him; I always thought those Nordics were a bit crazy, but he's all right."

"Stick a beer, or an axe, in his hand, and he's a pretty happy bloke. Not bad at all. One of my best friends."

Romano considered this. "Who else? Besides me, of course," he preened, buffing his nails on his uniform jacket.

The island nation considered this. "Well, Prussia, really. Those two – _and_ you – are the only ones I can count on to always treat me right. I'm friendly with other nations, but I have a lot of bad history with so many of them, too."

"What do you mean? Like fighting?"

"Fighting and trying to take over their bloody countries. I was surprised at Hong Kong, for example, when he confided in me about your – er – " Bollocks.

But Romano laughed. "I'm so sorry about all that_._ All that bragging and shit? I was a total ass."

"Yes, you were."

_"What?_"

"Pfft. I said this tea tastes like shit." They laughed together once more, and then England noticed that Den had sat down next to Switzerland. "That's somewhat odd."

"Why? Don't they get along?" Romano rubbed his hand over his face.

Hah, England had forgotten about his friend's Switzerland embarrassment from New Year's. "Not that I ever noticed. In fact I can't really remember them speaking at all. There's no hostility there that I know of, but – well – " He let his sentence falter as they watched the grinning Viking speak to the blushing, fidgety Alpine nation.

"Swissy doesn't look happy."

"Swissy, as you call him, is rarely _happy_. Wonder what Den's pestering him about."

"Who cares?" Then Prussia danced in with Ukraine on his arm. "Hah. That bastard's not really so bad either. I – I had a lot of negativity about him," Romano confessed, "because my stupid brother was always trying to get me together with him. He drives me nuts – but I noticed that he's not so intense when he's with you and Denmark. I – I can deal with him, then."

"Cool. I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable, little love." England grinned as Romano began to blush.

"Then stop with the romantic nicknames in public!"

"Yes, all right, wanker. Settle down. Here comes Norway; I hope the meeting runs smoothly."

Romano opened his laptop. "Me too, idiot. Me too."

…

Denmark breathed a happy sigh. Switzerland was really kind of cute! That nonstop blushing was almost hilarious, and he had to fight his laughter, but he knew Swissy was a pretty serious guy. He'd have to be calm and subtle about flirting with him. He bent down and audaciously put his mouth near the shorter nation's ear. "Hope the meeting's not too boring today," he murmured warmly.

"I – I hope so too!"

Aw. Look at him, fiddling with his pistol! The Viking cleared his throat to ask for a lunch date, but Norge started calling for attention. Well, the lunch date could wait. That'd give him more time to soften Swissy up. "Here we go," he laughed.

Switzerland, still red-faced, pressed his lips together in a little smile or smirk, and his eyes met Den's. Yeah, this morning was going to be fun!

"May I borrow a pen?" he murmured again, putting his hand on top of the frantic blond's and tweaking the pen from his grip. "Thanks."

Ah, he looked like a deer in headlights. Den would give him a break. He kicked back in his seat, hands behind his head, and winked at Norge, feeling good about himself.

…

Romano, totally bored, leaned back and spied on the other nations instead of listening to Norway. Ah, there really wasn't that much to spy on, except Prussia. The albino potato kept checking everyone else out, instead of paying any attention to either Norway _or_ Ukraine. She kept elbowing the bastard; he'd stop what he was doing, pat her hand, and go back to spying. Romano snorted. That bastard always called himself a good strategist, and here he was acting like a complete fool!

The brunet didn't catch anyone else's eye until he peeked at his idiot _fratello_. Looking at Veneziano always gave him a headache, because the macho potato was always right next to him. Romano pressed his fingers into his eye sockets; this movement caught his brother's attention, and the moron started beaming and waving at him. He hurriedly turned away.

This left him facing the rear of the room. Denmark was still pestering Switzerland. Wonder why? Maybe Swissy'd done something to piss him off? The way they whispered and examined Swissy's pistol and ignored Norway seemed…ominous. Were they planning a prank?

For that matter, where the hell was Austria? He would have expected the piano bastard to sit with Swissy. Romano scanned the entire room, but Austria was not there. Maybe he was sick. Well, whatever.

He turned to face the front of the room once more, to at least appear attentive, and leisurely rubbed his foot up and down England's leg; the bastard jumped a little, but then settled down and smirked as he pretended to pay attention, too. Good. Flirting was more important than the stupid meeting.

…

"Please adjourn for lunch and be back here in one hour. One hour!" Norway exclaimed, closing the laptop he'd used for his presentation.

Before he'd even finished speaking the room had mostly emptied. Good. Denmark had had a really fun morning, though he had to admit it'd felt more like _teasing_ Swissy, and not flirting with him. Well, they could go to lunch and see what happened. "Do you –"

But Switzerland was facing the other way with a big smile on his face. Huh? Den turned to see Austria entering the room, making a beeline for the Alpine nation. "Are you feeling better?" Switzerland asked the brunet tenderly, stroking the side of his face.

"Thank you, yes. The extra sleep helped quite a bit. I think that as long as I eat bland foods today, I should be fine. Good morning, Denmark," Austria greeted him. He and Switzerland exchanged a brief peck on the lips, causing Swissy to blush, and then the gun-crazed nation dragged his boyfriend out the door without once meeting the Viking's eyes.

Denmark, now alone in the room, stood paralyzed, his face aflame. He covered it with both hands. _Austria!_ How the hell had he forgotten about Austria? About Swissy dating him? Argh, sometimes Den felt like the most clueless idiot in all of Europe. He sat back down in his chair with a thump and blew out a sigh. Shit. Hopefully he hadn't made too much of an ass out of himself. A quick mental recap of the morning reassured him; he hadn't done anything too forward, and Swissy hadn't seemed to grasp what Den had been driving at – so he was probably in the clear. Whew.

But still. He packed up his things and left the room. Just in case he'd embarrassed himself, he'd leave the meeting now. Only half a day remained, so he wouldn't miss much, and Norge could fill him in later at some point. Yeah. He'd head for home, have a few beers, and try to forget about this stupid idea. Austria! Damn.

…

_Updates may become slower on this, and on "The Magical Adventures of the Skirmish Brothers," than usual. Because they're both canon universes but unrelated, I'm having a tough time keeping my mind on the right track for each one. Thanks for reading and sticking with me._


	45. Chapter 45

Ukraine had just come in from the fields, where she'd been working, peeled off her work gloves and begun to wash her hands, when the phone rang. "Bother," she muttered, drying her hands on her shirt and reaching for the handset. "Hello?"

"Sister! You don't have any plans tonight, do you?"

"Hello, brother." She smiled to hear his voice. "Not yet. Why do you ask?"

"I'm throwing a little impromptu party. You'll come, da?"

A party? Ukraine felt her excitement mounting; she realized she'd forgotten to turn off the water, so she did so. "Yes! I'd love to come. What kind of party is it?"

"Oh, just a little get-together. I haven't seen China in a while, and he wanted to bring some of the other Asian nations because they're all bored. I'll probably strong-arm the Baltics into coming along, but otherwise that's it. You may invite Prussia, of course."

She let that slide for the moment. "No Belarus?"

Russia's laughter tinkled through the earpiece. "Yes Belarus! If I failed to invite her, she'd get even more irritable, don't you think?" The two of them laughed together at that idea.

"Very well, brother. What time? And where?"

"Let's say eight, at my place in Petrograd, da?"

"That sounds fine with me. Do I need to get dressed up?"

"No, just your regular clothing is fine. See you at eight!"

"See you then, brother." Ukraine replaced the handset and smiled. A party! Well, she was sweaty and filthy from her agricultural work, so a shower should be first on her list. She had several hours to plan what to wear, and so on. Despite what Brother Russia had said, she would get a little dressed up. She wanted to look nice and not shame him, or herself.

Upstairs in the shower, she absently washed herself and considered whether or not to invite Prussia. The first thing to think about was whether he'd get irritated if she didn't. Hm. No. He always tried to get out of social situations with Russia, so he probably wouldn't mind if he found out about it afterwards.

Then too, his high level of attention had begun to drop lately. Ukraine didn't feel as excited about dating him as she previously had, because his calls had gotten more sporadic, and their dates had settled into a more routine kind of dinner-movie situation. She wondered if he was losing interest in her.

No, she wouldn't invite Prussia. He probably had plans anyway, since it was Saturday and he hadn't yet called to make a date. She'd dress up nicely and go spend a fun evening with her brother and his guests. Yes.

…

"Hello, China," she offered, as he kissed her cheek. "I love your outfit." The Asian wore a beautifully-embroidered red gown with gold, silver and black threads. Ukraine, in her red rockabilly dress, felt extremely dowdy by comparison, like the farm girl she was.

"You look so cute, though," China replied, tilting his head and smiling. "That dress is adorable-aru."

Before either of them (or the beaming Russia, who stood by) could respond, someone yelled "Aniki!" and knocked into China, who stumbled.

"Get off me, you obnoxious child!" China pushed the newcomer away. Oh! It was the smiling Korea, who had a little blush on his cheeks. He wore modern clothing, a t-shirt and jeans with combat boots, and he smiled shyly at Ukraine, hair curl bobbing, as his older brother scowled at him.

"Won't you introduce me, da ze?" he asked China, not taking his eyes off Ukraine. She felt herself blushing a little in response.

"What are you talking about?" China demanded. "You know who Ukraine is!" He shoved Korea again, a little, but his little brother didn't react to the push.

"You look quite nice tonight, Miss Ukraine," he said instead, taking her hand briefly. "I'm glad you're here, da ze!"

She felt quite muddled by this flirty attention and tried to laugh it off. "Where else would I be, when Brother Russia throws a party?" Gently she withdrew her hand from Korea's and cut her eyes to Russia. His beaming smile had disappeared; he now narrowed his eyes as he watched the two Asians.

"This is ridiculous-aru. Take me for a drink." China grabbed Russia's arm and drew him away, though the host did turn back once, still eying Korea suspiciously.

This left Ukraine alone facing Korea, whose expression hadn't changed from the bright smile, although his blush had finally subsided. "Do you want a drink too?" he asked, offering his arm.

"I – I suppose so," she replied, at a loss. Taking his arm, she let him guide her to her brother's expansive bar.

…

"He's totally enchanted by the boobies," Sealand giggled, a hand over his mouth. He and Latvia stood wedged as far into a corner as possible, observing the group as it broke up.

Latvia didn't even care. He just wanted to stay long enough to do his duty and then leave. "Y-y-you know Korea always says he invented them?" he babbled, just for something to say.

"What? He _invented breasts?_" Sealand's high-pitched laughter caught everyone's attention; they all turned to stare at the two in the corner…except Korea and Ukraine, who had gotten their drinks and moved off to speak alone.

"He _says_ he did," Latvia corrected him. "And stop laughing! I don't want R-R-Russia coming over here to single me out for attention!"

Sealand stopped laughing and scowled at his friend, the thick eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand you," he said. "Why did you even come to the party?"

"Because if I didn't come, he might do something even scarier! Yes!" Latvia, by now terrified beyond reason, turned and pushed his forehead into Sealand's shoulder. "C-can we leave now?" he begged quietly. "R-Russia saw us, so he knows I was here; that ought to m-make him happy."

"Are you kidding? I want to stay and see what Korea says to Ukraine! Ha ha ha!"

"S-stay if you want, but I have to go!" Latvia fled the room, leaving his friend staring after him in amazement.

But as he struggled into his coat, he felt someone patting him on the back, and turned to see Sealand with a contrite expression on his face. "Sorry, Lat. If you want to go, I'll go too. It's not right to abandon your friends."

"Really? Thanks! Come over to my house. I'll make us some good snacks!" Relieved that they were about to escape, Latvia became garrulous and happy. "Hurry!"

The two of them escaped from the party at high speed, now laughing and punching each other as they ran away from the house he dreaded so.

…

Inside, Ukraine had stopped drinking, even though she usually had a good head for it. Korea was a bewildering nation! He certainly ran hot and cold. For several minutes he'd spoken attentively to her in the corner of the room as they drank. Then he'd suddenly set down his empty glass and run off without a word. She'd assumed he needed the bathroom, but after twenty minutes (wherein she'd chatted with Poland and Lithuania) she'd spotted Korea talking earnestly to Macau in the corner. This had reassured her somewhat, because his attention at the beginning of the evening had been so bizarre. As a fallback, she'd actually sought out Belarus for some conversation.

Of course that was a disaster. Her sister had done nothing but complain about Ukraine's hair, her outfit, her shoes, her lack of interesting conversation…Ukraine wanted to scream and punch that scowling face, but she held off, and as soon as she could get away from Belarus, she did.

And then Korea had appeared and offered her another drink. Ten minutes of fairly intense conversation with him had been interesting and kind of funny, and then he'd bolted again!

So Ukraine had stopped drinking, and now in fact considered leaving this strange party. If she could find Brother Russia to make her excuses, she would! But he was nowhere to be seen, and neither was China. Hah, she could guess what they were up to!

She giggled a little, and Korea appeared once more as if by magic. "Are you all right, Miss Ukraine?" he asked kindly.

Ukraine felt rather surprised by all this. At meetings he was always over-the-top until China pummeled him into submission, but tonight Korea had been mostly calm and friendly towards her. Maybe he felt insecure at social occasions, but bolder at meetings? Ukraine felt the opposite. She smiled at him. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Good! Good. Will you come outside for a walk with me?" he asked. But then he blushed bright red and ran off again.

What on earth was the matter with that boy? She laughed and headed for the closet to get her coat. This was too weird, and not interesting enough for her to keep hanging around waiting to see what he'd do next. She'd been here three hours already; she would make her excuses to Russia later, on the phone. He probably didn't care anyway.

Ukraine slipped her coat on and ducked out of the party, unseen by anyone other than Korea, who, hiding behind one of the big rowan trees on Russia's land, watched her departure with sad, confused eyes.

…


	46. Chapter 46

"All right, bastards. Don't give me any shit about this. Just try it, and report in. Got that?" Romano scowled at the three, who stood before him like a fucking police lineup of gawping idiots.

"Ve, I understand!"

Germany nodded agreement. "I will endeavor to give you the most accurate and objective breakdown that I can."

"Git."

Well, Romano laughed at that. "Come on. The first dish is linguine with a creamy smoked salmon sauce." He led them into his dining room, where they took seats at the large table while he went into the kitchen to fetch the first experimental dish.

The next meeting would take place in Italy, and he'd promised those other bastards a salmon and pasta dish. After cooking and eating a few experiments alone, he'd realized he needed some outsiders to test them. True, Veneziano wouldn't be objective. If it contained pasta, he'd love it. But he knew the stupid potato bastard would indeed be clinical about it. And England? He was a little worried about England. It was possible that any food that wasn't English (read _burnt, bland_) would appeal to the dumb blond. But he'd needed him here to help him deal with the other two. And besides, they hadn't seen each other in a while. And besides that…he hoped to put one over on his friend! He snickered inwardly at the thought of the dishes he'd serve tonight.

Romano carried the bowl of pasta to the table and set it down within arm's reach of everyone. As he pulled out a chair to sit down, his _fratello_ chortled, "It's so nice that you're going to do this party for your friends! England must be a very good influence on you, ve." He beamed at the island nation, who couldn't repress a smirk.

Dammit, Romano wasn't even sure if this experiment was worth it. Not only did he now have to listen to all this idiot commentary tonight, but if he did succeed, he'd have to sit through idiotic Prussia commentary on the actual party night! "Shut up and eat."

They shut up, and they ate.

"This is remarkable," the potato bastard eventually said.

Well, who the fuck knew what that meant. "Remarkably good, or remarkably bad?"

"Don't be such an arse," England mumbled with his mouth full. "Remarkably good." Germany nodded his agreement.

"Do you have to be such a fucking slob?"

"I can't help it!" The island nation sucked down a long noodle and grinned. "This really is fabulous. I want you to give me cooking lessons."

"Chigi! Stick to the topic, will you?"

"Oh, settle down, Romano, ve. It is very good. I guess you took a shrimp recipe and substituted salmon?" Veneziano nibbled another of the tender fish morsels as he waited for his brother's answer.

"Cheh, yes, of course. I even got salmon especially delivered from Norway."

"Norway, ve? Why not from Denmark? It's Denmark you're cooking for, right?"

"Yes, idiot, but his country's not famous for its salmon."

"Plus," the potato bastard put in, "I suppose you want to keep it somewhat of a secret from him, or you would have invited him to the test dinner. Yes?"

"Yes," Romano grumbled. "Him and your dumbass brother, too, so don't go telling him about it yet."

"What about Turkey?" England remembered. "He was part of that invitation too, but he's not dating Prussia any longer." He reached for his wine glass.

"Ah, it won't be a problem. Remember the albino potato said they were still friends and would do shit together? So he can come to the dinner party."

"What about Ukraine, ve, though? It would be kind of harsh to invite Prussia and not her."

"Shit." The brunet rubbed his hand over his face. "Shit. What about that?" he asked his friend.

"Invite her," England suggested. "I don't mind. It would be easier on Prussia, too, because he wouldn't have to make up some excuse."

"Cheh, if he did, she'd probably just think we were going out drinking." He snorted and drank some of his wine as well. "But yeah, I'll tell him he can bring her. I hope she doesn't get too dorky."

"Listen, git, don't worry about it! Just invite her, and let Prussia deal with her."

"Yes, all right, all right."

Soon the serving plate had been emptied. "Yummy! What's the next dish, _fratello_?"

"And do you need any help in the kitchen?" Germany offered.

"No, it's fine. I'll bring this one out and explain it. It's kind of different." It certainly was. Romano felt very nervous about this second dish. This entrée was a radical departure from Italian cooking in general. He hoped his little brother wouldn't take offense. Sometimes Veneziano acted downright touchy about food.

Carefully he carried a big domed silver platter to the table. "That's a lot of salmon," England hazarded, eying it with a raised eyebrow.

"Shut up. Don't start yet. Hold on." He hurried back to the kitchen and fetched a big white porcelain bowl of orzo with cheese and herbs.

When he came back, all three of the others jumped guiltily; they'd all been staring at the dome as Veneziano had tried to lift it with his fork! "_Fratello_, seriously! What is this?"

With a spoon Romano calmly served the steaming side dish to each of his curious guests before setting it aside and picking up a pair of kitchen tongs. "Okay, bastards. Listen. What I did here, I – I tried to make this salmon like Wiener schnitzel." His tongue tripped over the unfamiliar term. "It's been lightly breaded and fried, in a special mix of Italian herbs and seasonings." He lifted the lid and the scent wafted forth. Ah, it smelled so good. Hopefully these bastards wouldn't give him any shit about it!

"I am quite eager to try it." Germany tucked his napkin into his collar and grasped his fork in one hand and knife in the other. "Technically a Schnitzel made with smoked meat is called a _Surschnitzel._"

"Dammit! You mean this already exists? Shit, I thought I'd invented it." Romano clanged the lid of the serving platter onto the table angrily.

"I admit I have never heard of it being made with smoked salmon," the macho potato conceded. "That is a new one even to me."

"Ve, serve it, Romano, and let's test it!"

"Sounds good to me, wanker," England grinned, holding his plate up for a slice of the tender meat.

...

By the end of this test dish Romano felt completely vindicated. Nobody had even spoken – they'd simply uttered grunts and groans of gastronomic gladness, occasionally sipping wine. All six of the salmon Schnitzel (or whatever the fuck it was called) had been devoured eagerly; the potato bastard had even asked if there was any more in the kitchen! Romano smirked at all three of them as they finished the last bits from their plates. "Good?" he asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Unh," England groaned again, leaning back in the chair. "Bloody hell."

"Ve, Romano, you might even hear _me_ say 'bloody hell'! That was amazing! Your friends are going to love that."

"Prussia will certainly love it," Germany added, wiping his lips with a napkin. "That's right up his alley."

"He'll love it even more when he knows you invented it just for him, git."

"Dammit! I invented it for Denmark, you dumbass. Not the albino potato."

"Whatever you say. You explain it; I'll just stand by and look adoring, okay?"

"Pfft. I hate you sometimes," Romano grinned, ready to bring out his last dish. "Do you have room for the last one?"

"I could eat some more," Germany admitted. "The pace is slow enough that I'm not feeling stuffed."

England nodded. "Agreed. Still don't need help?"

"Not for this one, bastard. Sit still, relax." He scurried to the kitchen with a secret grin.

When he came out, he bore a chilled silver pedestal dish in one hand and a cold bowl of noodles in the other. "Take this," he told his little brother, extending the silver dish.

Veneziano took it. "Oh! Something cold to eat. That will be nice." He raised the lid and peeked inside. "What is it?" He sniffed. "Pickled?"

"Just wait." Romano dished out some of the cold noodles and then reached for the dish of salmon slices. He laid a few strips of the meat across each plate and handed them to his friends, taking his seat and sipping some wine. "Okay. This is bucatini –"

"I know that, Romano!"

He glared at his little brother. "Will you shut up? I'm explaining for these two!"

"Oh. Sorry, ve."

"Well, this is bucatini, that is to say a type of noodle, cooked and tossed in olive oil and some special ingredients before chilling. And yes, the salmon is pickled, cold and sliced; it's some Nordic thing called _gravlaks._ This is the way it comes; I didn't do anything special to the fish. Try the whole damn thing, some noodles with some salmon together, and let me know what you think."

"I like _gravlaks _as well. We occasionally eat it in my country." Germany speared a slice of salmon with his fork and then twirled a few noodles around it. "What are the special ingredients?"

Romano fought to keep the smirk from his voice, and did not meet England's eye, as he told the potato bastard, "Never mind. I'll tell you afterwards."

But England had laid down his fork. "You're up to something, aren't you?"

Romano put on his best innocent face and smiled at his friend. "Who, me?"

But the smile alone was enough to tip his hand. The island nation narrowed his eyes. "Bet you a Euro," he snarked, but before he could get further the two of them began laughing together.

"Bastard, did you guess what it is?" He ignored the stares of the other two.

"Hah." England waggled his eyebrows and poked at the food on his plate. "I think so, but this is really _bugging_ me."

Yeah, shit, he'd guessed right. "You're an idiot."

"So are you, git. Shut it and pour me some wine."

They ate leisurely this time, slowing down as they all approached the end of their third main course of the evening. Eventually England gave up, but Germany and Veneziano plowed on until everything was gone. "Did you like it?"

"Romano, I'm not going to be able to eat anything for three days, ve! This was – was – well, let me just say you have outdone even your own self." Veneziano leaned back and patted his distended stomach. "Your friends are going to love you."

"Mf," Germany agreed, nodding as he stuck the last bite of salmon and bucatini into his mouth. When he'd finished, he nodded again. "Superb. Thank you so much for inviting us to be part of the taste test." He shot an amused glance at England. "Will you tell us what the mystery ingredient was?"

Romano looked at his boyfriend, who shrugged. "When we were in Thailand, this dumb bastard made me eat _maeng da_. I chopped some up, fried them in butter with some herbs, and tossed them in with the bucatini and grated cheese."

Veneziano's eyes widened and he nodded in understanding, but Germany frowned subtly in interrogation. "What on earth is _maeng da_?"

"Deep-fried giant water beetles," England laughed, raising his glass in a toast to Romano. "Great job. Delicious."

His _fratello_ also raised his glass, grinning, and poked around on his plate. "Do you have any left, still in the bug form? I'd love to see what they look like, ve."

"Sure. Hold on." Romano hurried to the kitchen and fetched the few bugs that hadn't been destined for the meal. "Here you go." He set the bowl on the table; Veneziano picked one up with his fingers, sniffed it, and began to nibble on it.

But the potato bastard began to look a bit nervous. "D-d-deep-fried…" His voice trailed off; he leaped up from the table with his hand over his mouth and dashed towards the nearest bathroom. "Please excuse me!"

…

_They're going to get every nation in the world hooked on these things._


End file.
